


Paper Chase

by ML Mead (moonlightmead)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Angst, Blackmail, CI5, M/M, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlightmead/pseuds/ML%20Mead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry Martin caused enough trouble the first time round. And now, five years after Bodie and Doyle pursued him through London, it emerges that he left behind him a notebook. A blackmail book. Information on where he might find some extra cash or leverage in CI5 itself. Bodie and Doyle have to get it back. Before the newspapers publish it. Before the Russians acquire it. And before anyone can realise that they are in it too...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saturday

 

 

Doyle drove in on autopilot. _Wonder whether Bodie’s been called_ _in too. Had plans for him tonight._

The phone call had been unexpected, but there was no point in complaining. Just as Cowley was capable of presenting his men with unexpected days off in the wake of operations, successful or otherwise, he was also prone to calling them in early. Or deciding that he needed someone to watch surveillance footage with him. Or giving someone the opportunity to encounter some of the movers and shakers behind the scenes by requiring a chauffeur or bodyguard. Quite apart from the chances of being called in for a genuinely unanticipated emergency. At least this time it had not been an immediate call: simply a cancellation of his planned weekend, which he had intended to spend in bed, Bodie by his side. If the job was something interesting, perhaps they might even get out of the training session with Macklin which would occupy the start of the following week.

And at least these days, Doyle reflected with grim amusement, extricating themselves from entanglements in bed required less dissembling. The number of nights with temporary girlfriends had fallen off remarkably. On a night-time call-in, the likelihood was that they were either both reached by the same phone call, or chastely sleeping alone, with either prudence , Doyle’s tendency to migrate restlessly over his bed, or Bodie’s desire for a firmly shut window leading them to separate flats. But prudence could only take them so far. On many nights, they were not alone.

They shouldn’t be doing it, of course. Not any of it. Not the hard grasping of each other with the bruises almost indistinguishable from those gained on the job. Not the frantic jerking off as they tumbled into a safe haven at the end of a long night. Not the long drinking of the soul in their kisses. And definitely not the long nights of turn and turn about and pushing each other to heights of gasping orgasm, one buried deep in the other.

But they were doing it nonetheless. They just had to make sure they were never caught.

SATURDAY

“Ah, Doyle. Bodie.” Cowley’s eyes narrowed at Doyle leaning against the lockers that took up much of the corridor space – couldn’t the man ever stand straight? Look at Bodie, for example, insouciant almost to the point of disrespect, but at least still standing upright while he chatted to his partner. He gestured. “Get in here.”

“Yes, sir.” Cowley couldn’t fault the response at any rate. Doyle propelled himself off the locker with alacrity and headed towards Cowley’s office. Bodie exaggeratedly ushered Doyle through the door before following him, and Doyle shot him an amused glance.

 _That pair. Always something_.

He waited until they had settled themselves. Although facing him, they were positioned so that they could watch each other’s reactions. Did they think he didn’t notice these things? Time to shake them up a bit.

“Corruption.” As Cowley spoke the words, Doyle tensed and Bodie’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll not have it. Not in government. Not in public life.” Cowley paused. “And, by God, not in CI5.”

“Corruption, sir?” Bodie was first off the mark, perhaps to head off Doyle. “In CI5? Is there something... going on, sir?”

Doyle had opened his mouth but simply shut it again, without even bothering to glance at Bodie.

“Maybe, Bodie. Maybe. If we don’t stop it.”

Their attention was fixed.

“I was at a dinner last night. With Sir Reginald Fawdon as my neighbour. Chairman of the D-Notice committee. He had something he wanted to tell me. Apparently someone is hawking some kind of book around Fleet Street. A book which purports to be evidence of corruption, immorality, avarice, at the highest levels. And...” he paused, “...in the security services.” He waved away any remark from either of them and continued. “CI5 was specifically mentioned.”

He watched their reaction. Bodie wore an expression of puzzled concern. Doyle glowered. Ah yes. He could trust Doyle to react to any suggestion of corruption around him. He was all principle and outrage, Doyle, whether he was on the right side of the rules or not. They shouldn’t take long to deal with this.

“A book? Someone’s memoirs, sir?”

“We don’t know yet, Bodie. That’s up to you two to determine.”

“Sir?”

“Sir Reginald is a friend of Dominic Althorp. You know who he is, I take it?” He didn’t wait for the nod. He expected his men to keep up not only with what was happening but also with what was reported as happening. If they didn’t know the name of the proprietor of a major national and a number of local newspapers, they had no business coming in to work.

“Althorp contacted Sir Reginald to warn him that the book was being offered around. His man hadn’t wanted to touch it. But it’s always possible that one of his competitors might decide to buy it.”

Cowley paused. “I have the name of the reporter on the home affairs desk. You can take it from there. I want to know what’s going on here. Is there a book? What is it? Who wrote it? Why try to sell it now? Ach, you know what I want.” He scowled. “Get it back.”

“Yes, sir.” Bodie paused. “But if it’s so explosive, why didn’t the paper buy it?”

Cowley smiled crookedly. “Althorp told Sir Reginald that his reporter smelt a rat. Apparently he doesn’t trust gift horses. Especially when he can’t see their mouths, and especially when their mouths come up with something like this. Go and talk to him. Find out what he knows. And if there is something there, get to it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bodie ushered Doyle out through the door.

 

Doyle had had long experience of dealing with reporters, who hung around the Met the way flies buzzed around a market, and he didn’t trust any of them: an opinion he was not slow to voice. Bodie was largely inclined to agree, but left it to Doyle to work himself up about them until he could interrupt as they approached the newspaper offices.

“Ray. Is that him there?”

Doyle looked and considered. “What, the one arriving now? Yeah, looks like it. Stroke of luck.”

Bodie nodded. They drew to a halt by the man.

“Mr Knowles? CI5. We’d like a word, if we may.” Doyle smiled breezily as the man reacted. “I’m Doyle. That’s Bodie.” He indicated his partner, who nodded amiably. “I hope now’s convenient.”

Knowles brought his arms up in a helpless gesture. “I suppose so. CI5, you said? Got any ID?”

Doyle extracted his ID from his back pocket – _how does he manage to sit down in those jeans?_ Bodie wondered absently – and displayed it. “There you go.” Bodie produced his for comparison.

“Shall we find somewhere where we can chat?”

They walked down Temple Avenue. On reaching Victoria Embankment, they settled, looking out over the Thames.

“So it’s this book, then.” Knowles didn’t pretend ignorance.

“Yeah,” confirmed Bodie. “So what happened?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary from my point of view. I was contacted by a woman who said she had information. A story. Proof of corruption within the security agencies. Particularly CI5. All in a book. She came to see me, we talked, she was asking very big money for it, I said I’d have to talk to my editor. She said hurry up or she’d go elsewhere.” He paused. “I get the feeling she wanted to hawk it around and take the best offer.”

“And were you hoping that that was going to be yours?” Doyle jumped in.

“Well...” He shifted uncomfortably. “I wasn’t sure, to be honest.”

“Not sure?”

“No. You have to understand, I do specialise in City and governmental stories, and I do cover corruption where I can. But... this.” He looked from one to the other ruefully. “I didn’t like the sound of this. Security’s not my area. For all I knew, this could be a genuine attempt to do damage to a service the country actually needs. I wasn’t happy.”

“That’s a very enlightened attitude, Mr Knowles.” Doyle’s tone was faintly cynical.

Knowles shrugged. “I realise it doesn’t sound terribly likely. I’m a reporter. We’re slightly less trusted than estate agents. But we don’t all concentrate on Kajagoogoo or kinky vicars in Kilburn.”

“Hmm.” Doyle still didn’t sound convinced.

Bodie took over again. “So what was this book? What sort of information was in it? Did she give any examples?”

“Well, she was pretty clear that she hadn’t written it. At first I thought she was talking about an actual book, ready to go to the publishers. But apparently it’s not like that at all. It’s a notebook. Someone’s notes. She wasn’t forthcoming on how it came into her hands, but she didn’t seem to be in a rush. I mean, it wasn’t like she was afraid that the original writer would come looking for it or anything.”

“So, you thought...?”

“I thought – still do, I suppose – I think... it’s a blackmail book.”

“A what?”

“A blackmail book. Her story was that it was a collection of people who could be compromised, people who might have something to hide. People who shouldn’t be in the services because of it.” He paused, and pulled a face. “Well, seriously, who compiles a list like that? Why? No one doing it for the public good’s going to be playing different papers off against each other to get the best price for it. They’d go to whoever could make changes happen.”

Doyle nodded. “Have you seen it?”

“No. Not yet. I doubt I could tell you anything about it if I had, though. She said it’s written in code.”

“In code?”

“Yeah.” He looked dubious.

“So how were you going to be able to use it?”

“Well, yeah, exactly. Newspaper budgets aren’t unlimited. I can’t buy something like that without being sure we could have it deciphered. And, like I said, I wasn’t happy. The whole set-up was wrong. I’ve had tip-offs from disgruntled employees, spurned lovers, jealous co-workers, all sorts. Good ones. But she doesn’t fit.”

“Right. I think we’ll have a word with her, then. Got her name and address for us?”

Knowles flipped through his book. “Here.”

Doyle glanced at the shorthand and transferred his gaze to Knowles. “Can you..?”

“Oh, sorry. Nicole Geraldson. In Christchurch Avenue, number...” He paused. “What is it?”

Doyle’s brow was furrowed. “Rings a bell. Why does it ring a bell? Bodie?”

“No idea. One of your many conquests, I expect. Come on, back to the car and we can find out. Thank you, Mr Knowles, you’ve been very helpful.”

 

After a brief perusal of the A-Z, Bodie swung out into the traffic.

“So what d’you reckon?”

“I reckon there might be something in it.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t see how, though. Depends what kind of compromising behaviour we’re talking about, but how do you get it on a whole list of people? I can see finding something out about one person accidentally, but...”

“Dodgy bank employee, perhaps? Going through cheques?”

“Maybe. Erm... doctor? Medical records?”

Bodie acknowledged this possibility with a nod of his head as he overtook on the inside and smiled bonhomie at an outraged taxi driver.

“Or a nurse. You ever known a nurse without a fund of embarrassing stories? And a tale or two of VIP patients?”

“If it comes to that, reporters hear all sorts. We sure about this guy yet, are we?”

“Sure about a reporter?” Doyle looked at Bodie in disbelief. “Not a chance.”

After ten minutes, they had decided that nearly any profession had its possibilities and Bodie returned to another question.

“You any the wiser on that address?”

Doyle frowned. “No. And I’m not sure I want to turn up there without knowing. Could be an old girlfriend. Or it could be someone we’ve had dealings with before.” He extended two fingers in a child’s imitation of a gun.

“Someone with a grudge and a weapon, you think?”

Doyle shrugged.

“Yeah. I see your point. Wanna hold off visiting for a bit? Until you’ve sorted it out? We can pop into headquarters and see if there’s anything registered.”

“Yeah, that’s not a bad idea. Headquarters and then this mystery book seller? Where are we? Ah, damn, miles from anywhere. Here, you can turn off by the flyover, cut a bit of time off.”

“Always the same,” Bodie was resigned as he followed the suggestion. “HQ and wherever we’re sent. Never near together. Always far apart. What?”

Doyle had jerked up in his seat and sent the A-Z flying. “Always far apart! That’s it!”

“What?”

“Always far apart! No, that’s not it. Never far apart! On the stairs. You know, that time when she was half-hidden behind the door. Not Nicole anyone. Maggie. Maggie Briggs.”

Bodie divided his attention between the traffic and an excited Doyle. “Maggie? Did you have a Maggie? I don’t remember-- oh shit. Maggie.”

“Yeah.” Doyle’s tone was grim. “Barry Martin’s girlfriend. She lived in Christchurch Avenue. And when it comes to picking up CI5 gossip, well. Barry Martin was in the right place. Bastard.”

“Yeah. Shit.”

The A-Z retrieved, Bodie followed Doyle’s directions until they were on more familiar roads, then reopened the conversation.

“Might not just be CI5 then, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“Might not just be CI5. Martin was in MI5 with the old man before CI5 started, wasn’t he? Perhaps he’s got dirt on MI5 in that book too.” His voice altered, sounding more optimistic. “Or MI5 dirt on MI6.”

Doyle groaned. “Better and better. You don’t think they’re in on this too, do you?”

“Knowles didn’t say anyone else had approached him, did he?”

“Nah. Good. Too many cooks and all that – and if there is CI5 stuff in that book, we need it back before MI5 get hold of it.”

“No kidding.”

“Gotta wonder who, though.”

“Hmm?”

“Who in the mob he could have spotted. Doing what.”

Bodie thought for a minute. “Well, Barry liked money. Gambling? Perhaps he saw someone else he knew at a high-stakes game? Getting in too deep?”

“Perhaps. Who?”

Bodie grinned. “Me. Undercover, of course.”

“Of course.” Doyle grinned back. “Anything you want to tell me?”

“Get out of here. Seriously. Who? We have to be looking at some of the old-timers. Anyone after Martin should be alright.”

Doyle pulled a face. “So the longer we’ve worked with them, the more under suspicion they are. Great.”

“Mmm.” Bodie kept his gaze on the road.

There was a pause.

“Morgan,” said Doyle morosely. “I’ll bet you anything you like that Morgan’s on the list.”

“Morgan? What, Morgan who married the pretty Irish bird with the dodgy family connections?”

“Yeah.”

“No bet.”

“No. Damn.”

“Yeah. Suddenly got real, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

The silence stretched. Bodie took advantage of the lull to execute some manoeuvres of questionable legality and to slice some more time off their journey. Uncharacteristically, Doyle failed to comment. Normally he’d point out how much Bodie had learned from Doyle’s years on the Met. Instead, he had withdrawn into himself. Eventually, he stirred.

“You know who else is going to be in it?”

“Who?”

“Us.”

“Us?”

“What am I, an echo chamber? Yeah, us. Okay, it’s not like we’d roll over for it, but, well. We’d be high on the list.”

“But we weren’t... Weren’t. Not when Martin was staff.”

“Ah, Bodie, maybe not, but would that make any difference now?”

 

Cowley was far from pleased to hear of their conclusions.

“Barry Martin? _Barry Martin?_ Of all the...” He trailed off, his face as sour as if he had poured a glass of his favourite malt from a bottle and found it dyed purple.

“Well, it’s just a guess at the moment, sir,” offered Bodie. As an attempt to pour oil onto troubled waters, it did not help.

“A guess? A guess, Bodie? What are you doing back here, then? Why aren’t you sure?”

“Wanted to check the files first, sir.” Bodie was injured. “Check it is Maggie’s address. And whether we have anything on this Nicole Geraldson. Or Maggie, come to that.”

Cowley accepted that reluctantly. “Aye. I suppose so. And if it is?”

“Well, then, then we’ll go and pick whoever it is up. Bring her back here, bring the book back, and get it decoded.” He frowned and glanced at Doyle, who nodded. “There’s a problem there, sir. If we can’t break it, we’ll have to pass it on somewhere. And MI5’ll think Christmas came early, if we give them a list of our past indiscretions. As for MI6...” he let his voice trail off.

“Aye, Bodie. I can see the difficulty.” Cowley was snappish, then paused to consider.

“I may have something of assistance there. We – he and I – served together for some years. In a number of fields. We had to use codes more than once. Some of them were standard. Others were generated for one assignment only. Sometimes they were substitution ciphers.” He paused. “Aye, and sometimes we were issued with code books.”

He reached into his pocket for a keyring. Taking his time, he selected one and applied it to one of his desk drawers. He glanced up at both men.

“Yes, a good desk is a boon. Why do you think I was so vexed when you two destroyed my purchase on that hare-brained chase? Old desks have secrets. It took me almost two years to find this one after your recklessness.”

He dumped a pile of what looked like expenses claims onto his desk – Doyle swore later that Bodie’s claims for dry-cleaning the previous year were clearly visible, pristine and untouched – and leaned over the base of the apparently empty drawer. Looking up, he saw both agents craning to look. Irritably, he waved them back. They took the hint and retreated. There was no click, no rattle, no whisper.

Without ceremony, he produced a small notebook and dropped it on the desk.

“Barry... Aye, Barry liked this book. The code on...” he leafed through and turned down a page, “Yes, this page in particular. Make of it what you can, lads.” He pushed the expenses claims back into the drawer, shutting and locking it, while Doyle took the book and inspected it, Bodie drawing near to peer over his shoulder at it.

“Now get that book back.”

 

Bodie took the wheel again. He enjoyed watching Doyle drive fast under pressure, exhilaration and determination flickering across his face, but Doyle jerking his way through London congestion was more likely to spread irritation and gloom. Far better to have him relax back in the passenger seat, elbow on the edge of the window and foot on the dashboard, and to be able to watch him breathe, the hair at the V of his shirt peeping in and out of view. Eventually Doyle would break the silence, brooding on the case.

“So, this Nicole.”

“Yeah. Did you get any more out of Files about her?”

“Naah. Got Helen asking if you were free for a drink on Friday, though.”

“Yeah?”

“We should have some of those women on the A squad. Their investigative skills are better than half of our lot’s. They know you’re not seeing anyone regularly …” Doyle turned his head to leer at Bodie “… little do they know, eh?” and then sobering, “and so Helen thought she might have a go.”

“So she asked you? About me?”

“Yeah.” Doyle looked thoughtful. “Don’t think there’s anything in that. I mean, birds do it all the time, don’t they? They’re forever asking other people. Does he fancy me?” he aped, “Is she going out with him? Where did they go last week? Never ask the person involved.”

Bodie grinned. “So what did you tell her?”

“Told her she was intent on an act of charity. You being so unloved at the moment. And that I’d send you down to the White Hart in good time.”

“Did you? I can find my own birds, you know.” Bodie tried not to let irritation seep through.

“Ah, I know that. Just... opportunity came up. And – well.” Doyle waved a hand. “Now’s not a good time for the grapevine to start asking why neither of us are seeing anyone.” He watched for Bodie’s reluctant acquiescence.

“And she’s a fun girl.” Doyle grinned. “I’m not worried about the competition, but you’ll enjoy it.”

“Oh for god’s sake, Doyle, are you setting me up with your cast-offs?”

Doyle attempted to look mysterious, then relented. “Look, it’s better this way. I don’t mind it, and it keeps us safe.”

“I know that. I know all of that. I just don’t need your matchmaking.”

“Bodie...”

“Yeah, alright. I’ll think about it.”

 

Drawing into Christchurch Avenue, they pulled up opposite the building. It was an old Victorian semi-detached house, with a shared porch and separate flats within. Doyle loosened his weapon in his holster as they sauntered up the stairs, passing a single flat on the way.

Bodie rang the bell and waited. There was no answer.

“Miss Geraldson? Miss Geraldson, can you answer the door, please?”

As the seconds stretched, Doyle took up a position by the side of the door, his hand inside his jacket and ready to draw his weapon in a heartbeat. Bodie raised his eyes to heaven briefly and pressed the bell again.

“Miss Geraldson?”

Doyle, with his head on the wall next to the door frame, heard it first. He held his other hand out to stop Bodie. “Someone’s coming,” he mouthed.

Then Bodie heard it too. Steps up the carpeted stairwell, slightly unsteady. Doyle relaxed and unpeeled himself from the wall and his weapon from his hand just before an elderly woman came into sight around the corner of the stairwell, curlers under her headscarf and eyes bright. She examined them carefully.

“You looking for someone?”

“Ah, yes.” Doyle was smoothness itself. “Nicole Geraldson? We understood she lives here?”

“Two at once?” the woman answered, and – _did she just smirk? Yes, she did_ – “She’s getting ambitious.”

They shot each other a perplexed glance.

“How’s that, then?” ventured Bodie.

Smothering her amusement, the woman looked up at him.

“Oh... nothing. Didn’t mean nothing. If you want her, though, you’re either early or late. She’s not in.”

“Damn.” Doyle’s voice was barely a mutter, but she still heard it.

“Oh, don’t worry, boy, you can catch her up. Helping her celebrate, are you?”

“Ah. Yeah. That’s right,” confirmed Doyle. “After she...” he tailed off and looked expectant.

“Don’t you know?” she rejoined. “Well, no more do I. No idea what she done, not someone like her.”

“But..” Bodie prompted.

“Well, obviously,” she agreed with him. “She’s celebrating, so she done something. You don’t know what either?”

“We were hoping she’d tell us tonight.” Doyle’s tone was that of one who had failed to meet a friend.

“Well, if you find out, be sure and let me know.” She winked at them.

“Okay,” Doyle agreed. “If we find out...” He pulled a face. “Not that we’re likely to now, though. She suggested we came over, and didn’t say where she was going to celebrate. Eh, Bodie? Must have missed her.”

Bodie, appealed to, shook his head. “Nah. Didn’t even say whether it was down the road or whether it was West End time.” He looked confiding. “Often one for the bright lights, eh, Mrs...?”

“Moxon,” supplied the woman, and looked interested. “Is that where she used to go, then? The West End? After all this time telling me she was just down the Palace?”

“Ah, well,” Doyle was knowing. “What people say and do...”

“The Palace on the Vauxhall Road, is that, Mrs Moxon?” Bodie pushed. “Only, you see, if we can catch her, we can celebrate too.”

She let out a cackle. “I I bet you can. No, the Palace in Kilburn, down the road.”

“Ah yes,” agreed Doyle. “Silly of us not to have thought of it before, eh, Bodie?”

“Yeah,” Bodie concurred. “Thanks, Mrs Moxon. If we see you again...” he let his voice trail off invitingly.

She cackled again. “You just let me know, young man. Flat 4, I am.” She jerked her head. “Next one down.”

 

The Palace was a sleazy outfit. The floor was sticky with the remnants of spilled lagers and Babychams, and neon lights sputtered over a tawdry dance floor. Bodie and Doyle exchanged glances as they entered and nodded. Find her and out. Bodie approached the bar as Doyle let an eye roam over the clientèle. He completed the circuit to see Bodie flash his ID discreetly at a youthful barman, then to lean further over and confer. Following the barman’s gestures, Bodie turned to look down the bar’s length at an empty stool. A cocktail glass stood half-empty in front of it.

Bodie returned. “Barman says she’s in the loo. Well-known around here. Bit of a man hunter. Had a few drinks already.” He raised his eyebrows. “You do it, or will I?”

“Eh?”

“Get her out of here without causing a fuss. Just pick her up.”

“What?”

“Just to get her back to her flat. If she still won’t cooperate, we can take her in properly, but don’t fancy it if she cuts up rough. If she’s that well-known, someone here might decide to intervene, and I’m not in the mood.”

“You’re always in the mood,” Doyle shot back. “Later, eh?” He had the satisfaction of seeing Bodie catch his meaning and blink.

“Naughty, Doyle. We’re working.”

“And you’re suggesting I pimp myself out.”

“Nah. Well, not necessarily. Just get her back to the flat. Or anywhere where we can talk.”

“She might prefer you. Thought of that, hotshot?”

“What, like you do?” Bodie preened automatically. “Modesty forbids.”

“You just sit over there and learn, my son.”

 

“Nicole Geraldson?”

Carefully tumbled curls bobbed as she turned her head. “Who wants to know?”

“We do.”

As Doyle sat, he became aware of a practised gaze assessing him. Automatically, he flashed her a smile.

“Been looking for you. Hear you might have something we’re interested in.”

She tilted her head slightly and narrowed her eyes. “What’s that, then?”

“A book. A book for sale.”

“What, the book? You interested? And who’s ‘we’, anyway?”

“Me and my friend. And yeah. Oh yeah, I’m interested.” He let his eyes wander up and down her, from her jaunty hat and her big hooped earrings, down her striped top, and watched her sit up more. “Very interested,” he added.

Her eyes sparkled. “My life’s got much more interesting since that book, I have to say.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s like living in the films. You know...” she gestured with her Babycham, “…meeting strange men for dinner on expenses... reporters... envelopes full of cash... feeling like someone might be following you. I’m still waiting for James Bond, though,” she added dolefully.

“Won’t I do?”

She squinted appraisingly at him. “You don’t exactly fit the image for a spy, do you? Shouldn’t you have a dinner jacket? And a gun under your arm?” She reached out to lift the flap of his jacket. Doyle stilled, aware of the holster under one arm. Her fingers touched the other flap. He didn’t relax, watching her narrowly.

“Look dangerous though. What happened there?” She withdrew her hand to point at his cheekbone.

“Fell out of a tree. Rescuing a cat.”

“Why don’t I believe that? Ah, well. Buy me a drink and we can play at spies. Keep my life exciting.”

Doyle signalled to the barman. “Another one of these for the lady. And... ah, a vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred.” He turned back to Nicole. “Doing my best for you, eh?”

She toasted him, amused, and then returned to business abruptly. “So. You’ve heard about this book, then?”

“Yeah. Me and my friend, we were looking to buy it.”

“Gonna make me an offer?”

“Gonna let me see the goods first?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

 

After another two Babychams, she professed herself ready to leave. The air outside was cold and she was willing to snuggle under Doyle’s arm. Knowing that Bodie would have taken the Capri, he hailed a taxi. They settled in, Doyle giving her address without prompting. She looked sharply at him. “You know where I live?”

“Ah, well, we super-spies, you know...” He softened the words with a finger along her jawline. “Always prepared.”

She relaxed into him a bit. “Always?”

“Always,” Doyle assured her. “Lucky we’re gentlemen, really.”

Considering that, she pursed her mouth. “Pity, that. Not sure it’s a gentleman I’m looking for tonight.”

 _Oh, if only you knew_. Doyle was becoming tired of this fencing. _Get this finished, get the book off her, we can drop it in to headquarters tonight. Night won’t be completely ruined, then, we’ll have most of the night to ourselves_.

As the taxi pulled up, a figure was visible under the porch. She caught at Doyle’s sleeve as he passed money over to the driver. “Who’s that?”

Doyle peered past her to see. “Ah. Not to worry, love, I’ll sort it out.” He kept a reassuring arm around her as they approached.

Bodie stepped forward through the light and shadow. “Evening.” He took an ostentatious look at his watch. “Took your time, didn’t you?”

Nicole tensed, and Doyle kept his voice light. “Ah, well. Nice night, you see. Good company.” He tightened his arm around her body and relaxed it again, transmitting _calm, calm_ signals. It was only as he looked at her that he realised her attention was fixed on Bodie. Who, he agreed inwardly, was looking suave and sardonic under the dim shafts of light. Very much so. _Oh...no wonder she’s not screeching the place down..._

“You know him, then?”

“Oh yeah. Remember I said I had a friend.” Doyle gestured towards Bodie. “That’s Bodie.” Bodie chose that moment to offer a suggestive smile. Her eyes were fixed on him. Doyle sighed internally.

 _Bastard. He does this deliberately_.

Doyle intervened. “Going to let us in, then? Business, remember?”

She caught herself and took a breath. “Oh, yes. Wait a minute...” Unlocking the door, she preceded Doyle and Bodie in.

“After you, 007.”

Bafflement was clear on Bodie’s face.

“James Bond,” Doyle mouthed at him. “You.” He motioned with his head. “She likes you.”

Bodie pointed at himself, raised an eyebrow, then turned the gesture into thumb and forefinger forming an ‘O’ and a complacent _leave it to me_. Doyle decided not to kill him yet. _Might need him later_.

 

They had been here before, years back, on the trail of Barry Martin. The structure had not changed, but some of the décor was new. A stepladder was propped in the hallway, and trails of paper hung from one of the walls. The windows to the balcony which had enabled Martin to escape gaped open.

Doyle watched Bodie head straight for the balcony and glance around before he closed the windows.

“So now I have two strange men wanting to know about my book. Life’s certainly looking up. Brandy?” She had moved up close to Doyle again as she offered them each glasses.

“Yeah. Thanks. So. This book. What exactly is it?” Bodie’s voice was leisurely. Doyle stepped back and let him take the lead. She turned to look at him.

“It’s worth money.”

“Yes, my lovely, but what is it?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” she admitted, and looked chagrined. “But it’s something to do with spies and traitors. Things like that.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, I didn’t at first. But then Mags told me it might be something... special,” she trailed off.

 _Oh great, more people in the know.._ “Who’s that?”

“Mags. My landlady. Known her for years. This is her place really. But she’s in Holland at the moment. I was looking for a place to live, she needed a tenant. So I’m sort of half-renting, half house-sitting.”

Bodie looked enquiring.

“Well, I was doing the decorating. She said I could,” she hastened to add. “And I was stripping the paper, and... here, look. There was this weird sort of... compartment, just set into the wall. And there was the book in it. And it was...” she groped for a word and settled on an earlier one, “weird. So I asked Mags.”

Seeing that Bodie was still holding Nicole’s gaze, Doyle followed where she indicated and inspected the niche. Following Nicole’s home improvement efforts, it was clear to see, but he had no trouble in accepting that it might have gone unnoticed. Marks on the floor showed that heavy furniture had stood in front of it for some time.

“And what did Mags say?” Bodie’s voice came from behind him.

“Oh, she was _furious_. Not with me,” Nicole added hastily. “She was talking about some guy, some... friend... of hers from the past.” The intonation on friend was clear. “Apparently, he’d run out on her. Quite _literally_ ran out. Over the hills and far away. Disappeared. She never saw him again. Said she never wanted to in the future either. Said he’d caused her enough trouble when they were together. Anyway, she said he’d dropped hints about being something” – she lowered her voice – in _security_. Signed the Official Secrets Act and everything.”  
Doyle turned in time to see Bodie look suitably impressed.

“And, yeah, she said she wasn’t in the habit of leaving books behind the wallpaper. And it was bound to be his. And he was a bastard. And she didn’t want to hear from him ever again. And anything he was involved in was bound to be dodgy. Said not to believe a word he said. Said he’d claimed all sorts of stuff – he was going to be rich one day, he had a secret list of names of security risks, he was writing a book...”

“So I took it to my friend who works on _The Mail_ ,” she finished brightly. “And he offered me two hundred pounds for it, and then I knew it must be good. And then I wondered how much it was really worth, so I started ringing round the other papers. And I’ve had such a good time since,” she announced happily. “ _New Society_ were really interested but _utter_ cheapskates, but the man from _The_ _Guardian_ bought me lunch, and the man from _The Sun_ said he could get me Elton John’s autograph, and _The Telegraph_ offered me tickets to a West End première, and there was someone actually _following_ me the other day, and it’s all been great fun.”

_Bingo._

“So where is it now, love?” Doyle asked.

“Are you reporters, too?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“What are you, exactly, then?” she demanded. “Police? I’ve not done anything wrong.”

“Not police. Close,” offered Bodie.

She looked at him for a very long moment. “Are you... that is... Do you... Have you signed the Official Secrets Act too?”

“Can’t possibly answer that.” Bodie smiled lazily at her.

Her eyes widened. “Right then. And you want my book.”

“Got it in one,” agreed Doyle. _Finally. Get this over with and we can all go home_.

She chewed her lip for a moment and then straightened. “I’m not going to get my five hundred pounds, am I?”

Bodie shook his head. “Sorry.”

“And I’m not going to get any more reporters buying me drinks, either?”

He shook his head again. “Probably a good thing. You never know who’s going to turn up pretending to be a reporter.”

“Pretending?”

“Oh, come on, you hawk a book of security leaks around Fleet Street and agents from half of Europe will be after it within two days.”

“Agents? What, real spies?”

Doyle wanted to shake her. Bodie merely nodded.

“I haven’t got it here,” she admitted.

“Well, we can all go and get it, then.”

“Not at half past eleven at night! They’ll be shut!”

“Who’s that?”

Her mouth shut stubbornly. “I’ll show you tomorrow. In the meantime...” She trailed off, chewing her lip. Decision made, she pulled her shoulders back. “In the meantime, a deal.” Bodie looked enquiring. Doyle tried not to grind his teeth too visibly. _Get on with it. I want to go home. I want Bodie in my bed. Now_.

“Right then.” She took a breath. “You can have it. Probably have it. But...” she paused. “You have to persuade it out of me.”

“What?”

She coloured slightly. “I’m not getting my money. I’m not getting any more trips on expenses. But there’s one thing I can have. Well. Two things.” She looked very slowly up and down each of them.

“Are you suggesting what I think?”

“Probably,” she agreed. She looked at Doyle. “I’d have invited you to stay anyway, but your friend... your friend is very...”

_Yes, isn’t he just? You little cow, I had plans for him and me and they didn’t involve anybody else._

“So,” she picked up her drink. “How about it?”

Doyle was momentarily speechless. He glanced at Bodie, who was giving away nothing, and managed to find his voice.

“Sorry, love. I don’t share. I’m sure James Bond here’ll give you a lovely time.”

“Oh, well, if you don’t want the book...”

“I think you’d better just tell us where it is.”

She shook her head. “That’s not the deal.”

Doyle couldn’t believe this.

_Me and Bodie, yes. Me and you, well... Maybe. Another time. But me and him, together, with someone we don’t know... This is just wrong._

“Oh, come on, Ray.”

Doyle’s head whipped back to Bodie in shock.

“Nice generous girl like her, be a pity to let her down.” Bodie, damn him, was all lazy unconcern.

“My heroes,” announced Nicole happily. “I’ll just... just...” she made to move and then hovered uncertainly. “Get ready,” she concluded. “Don’t go away.”

As soon as she was through the threshold, Doyle was in front of Bodie, hissing in as low a voice as he could manage.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? What the hell do you think you’re up to?”

“Ah, calm down, Ray.” Bodie met his eyes with unconcern. “It’s that or take her in, and while we waste time getting answers out of her, the Russians or the East Germans track the thing down. And if we leave her overnight, well. If she _is_ being followed, someone else might take it into their head to visit while we aren’t here. And anyway, we both,” he paused, considering his words, “we both see other people. You were okay with that.” He eyed Doyle narrowly. “You were trying to set me up with Helen this morning. Unless something’s changed. In which case, mate, I could have done with knowing about it before now.”

“It’s not the same!”

“Of course it’s—”

“ _Think_ about it, Bodie. I might have gone for this with someone we knew, trusted.” _Might. Maybe. Not sure who there is who’d fit that_. “But her, she’s just some bird on the pull. Nice enough, but a bird quite happy to go gossiping to the _papers_ , in case you’d forgotten.”

_And I don’t want to watch you. Not with someone else. Not when I can’t touch you._

“All the more reason to keep her under our eye and get that book first thing tomorrow. What’s to gossip about then?”

“Wh–”

He broke off as she returned, looking animated. Her face sharpened as she looked from one to the other. “What’s up?”

 _Not me_ , thought Doyle, dourly. _Bodie, you madman_.

“Nothing, love,” he managed, smiling. “Just discussing... ah, logistics.”

_Jesus. We’re really going to do this._

She grinned suddenly, her eyes lighting up. “Shouldn’t be too difficult, should it? I mean, how hard can it be?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Doyle saw Bodie’s lips twitch. _Don’t you dare_. Bodie apparently received this telepathic signal, and visibly changed what he was going to say.

“Well,” he drawled, stepping closer to her. Taking her shoulders, he turned her in the direction of the door. “If you show us which way the bedroom is, you can find out exactly how hard it is, can’t you?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, and gave her a gentle push.

In the bedroom, Bodie surrendered Nicole to Doyle, his eyes watching them as he began to unbutton his shirt. Doyle drew Nicole towards him, took her hands, and placed them on his shoulders, before reaching to hold her to him, his hands on the small of her back. He rocked them together gently.

“All right?” he asked, looking down at her upturned face.

“Yes,” she affirmed, with a touch of surprise at the question. Her hands tensed on his shoulders and pulled him down into a kiss. Lost, his eyes fluttered open to see Bodie regarding them. Bodie jerked his head. _Go on. What are you waiting for?_ He managed not to scowl and bent to meet her mouth.

She was eager, her lips pushing back at his, but soft and yielding. Her mouth seemed much smaller after Bodie’s. So different that there was no comparison. Relieved, he let himself relax into it. The pressure of her breasts on his chest was having its inevitable effect and he felt himself beginning to stir. As her hands began to snake under his jacket, he caught her wrists gently before her fingers could encounter his holster or its contents.

“Ah, ah,” he admonished. “Go and make friends with him, there’s a good girl. He’ll be getting lonely.” He watched Bodie, now out of jacket and shirt, approach the two of them, and relinquished her to him.

“Well, hello,” offered Bodie, accepting her. “What’s a nice girl like you doing with a...” he gestured with his head, “… shady character like this?”

Doyle ignored Bodie’s chaffing as he took off his jacket, letting the holster come off with it, bundled inside the jacket itself. He folded the jacket carefully so that the holster couldn’t be exposed and the R/T couldn’t fall out, and looked for somewhere to put it. Bodie had already co-opted the most likely chair for his clothes, and he couldn’t disarrange them for fear of revealing Bodie’s gun. He sighed inwardly, stalked round the bed, and put his jacket down on the other side, out of the way. The rest could fall where they liked.

He looked at Bodie and Nicole, entwined. Bodie had already wound his fingers under Nicole’s striped top to reach for her breasts. He was nuzzling at her neck. _Does he look like that with me?_ Doyle wasn’t sure he wanted to think so. As he watched, Bodie’s fingers ran round to her back, clearly unfastening her bra. As he did this, he lifted his head and faced Doyle, watching him now over her shoulders. He tilted his head, indicating to him. _Come on_. Doyle remained where he was. He could get through this – perhaps – if they kept away from each other. He could admire Bodie from a distance.

He could watch. He could watch him with a girl, he realised. Just couldn’t share. Didn’t want to expose the two of them to another’s gaze, even if she didn’t know what she was privy to. Didn’t want to be inches from his body and unable to touch it, to run his fingers and palms over that skin.

Bodie’s eyes expressed puzzlement. Nicole must have felt his attention wander. She turned around in Bodie’s grasp, and extended an arm. “Come on.”

Doyle shook his head. “Nah. You have a good time with him, love. Then we can...” he slid to a halt.

“No!” Nicole was pouting. “That would be...Well... Doing it with one of you, then with the other. That’s.. “ Doyle realised with a start that the word _tarty_ was hovering about her lips.

“And this is different, is it?” Doyle was baffled.

“Course it is.” The pout grew. “You have to play the game properly.”

His incomprehension showed.

She shook herself free of Bodie impatiently. “I don’t want to... to do it with one of you, then the other. I want you _both_ to...” she searched for a phrase, “to pay attention to me.”

_Jesus._

He forced himself to smile lazily. “I see.”

Slowly, he picked his way over to her. Nicole smiled, and turned herself round so that Bodie was holding her from behind. She wriggled, hinting, until his hands slid down and over her breasts. Doyle placed himself in front of her and wondered where the hell he was supposed to go now. He gingerly slid his hands round her waist. As he did so, he felt them slide against the base of Bodie’s belly, and a fluttering in his muscles. _Shit. Don’t react_. _Not to Bodie._ Bodie pushed himself forward, trapping Doyle’s hands between Nicole’s back and Bodie’s stomach. He couldn’t help himself, letting his hands run up and down and around Nicole’s waist, hearing her contented mumble and feeling Bodie’s firm stomach muscles against the backs of his fingers. He ached to reach further down, to run the backs of his hands over Bodie’s genitals, just there out of reach. He could feel Bodie’s cock already, jerking its way steadily upward, could feel it just brushing his fingertips. If he just brought them a little closer together, it would be within his grasp, just a little further..

Nicole squeaked and Doyle, horrified, realised his hands were still around her sides and his thumbs pressing into her. He relaxed his grasp and slid his arms further down, down to her skirt.

“Sorry, love.” He massaged her gently.

Bodie, damn him, was seemingly content to continue to press forward.

“Bodie,” he risked, urging Bodie to look back at him. _Stop that._

Nicole’s brow wrinkled at the lack of comment. “What d’you want him to do?” Ooh,” she added, “You’re not... you don’t...” she tailed off and tried again, “You know. Like that...”

Bodie’s eyes narrowed fractionally behind her head. _Yeah, Bodie. See. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen._ Doyle concentrated on remaining relaxed.

“Not what, love? Don’t what?” He feigned realisation, a deliberate start. “Urgh. Christ, no.” Time for a display of unconcern. “With him? When I’ve got you to look at?” His fingers finally found the fastening of her skirt and it floated its way down, rustling. He ran his fingers under her underskirt and slipped it over her hips so that it too fell untidily. She looked up at him. Strangely, it hurt less to look at her now, perhaps because she was so dissimilar to Bodie. Petite, tumbled blonde hair, eyes big in the dimness, there wasn’t much wrong with her, Doyle admitted to himself.

 _Except for the fact that we’re standing in her bedroom, and it should have been us two standing in mine – or his – and she’s standing in between us both_.

 _Just_ _ignore Bodie_ , he told himself, and he tugged the three of them gently towards the bed. _Ignore him. Ignore the way he’s watching. Ignore the way he’ll feel, the way his breathing will change. Ignore it..._

_Oh God._


	2. Sunday

He was woken by the familiar tones of the R/T.

_I can’t have slept. Surely?_

Untangling himself from the sheets, he tumbled himself silently over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. Kneeling, he groped carefully until he found his jacket, holster concealed within its folds. He slipped the R/T out and rose. He looked back to see Bodie stir and then restlessly drape his arm over Nicole, who snuggled towards him. A flash of venom shook him. Depressing the button on his R/T, he frowned as the warbling continued. It was coming from the chair. He snatched up Bodie’s R/T and stepped swiftly through to the passage, shutting the bedroom door behind him.

“Control to 3.7. 3.7, are you there?”

He pressed the transmit button. “4.5 to Control. What’s up? Over.”

“Doyle? Why’ve you got 3.7’s radio? Done a swap, have you?”

He winced inwardly. “That’s right, Control. Do you need him?”

“Need you both, actually. The balloon in the Branson case just went up. Looks like a possible siege situation. You’re both on the call out list.”

“What, now?” Doyle bit off a curse.

“No, Thursday.” Even through the static, the irritation was clear. “Yes, now.”

“But we can’t. Not both of us. We’re on a job already.”

“Yeah, right. I’ve heard that before. Nothing listed here. Get your arses in here.”

_Bloody hell._

“We are. Need to know only.”

“You can try that one with Cowley, 4.5. When you get here. Both of you. Now.”

He sighed. “Understood, Control. 4.5 out.”

Disentangling Bodie from Nicole’s draped limbs did nothing for Doyle’s temper. Placing his hands over Bodie’s mouth, he clenched his hand on Bodie’s shoulder. Bodie’s eyes flew open.  
“Work,” Doyle mouthed.

“But—” Bodie began, and then winced as Nicole mumbled and opened her eyes halfway. Doyle refrained from comment.

“Morning,” Nicole was hazy. “What’s going on?”

“Duty calls,” offered Bodie sourly, before shaking her off. Rising, he began a search for his clothes.

“Duty? What?”

“His aunt needs him to check for burglars under the bed,” Doyle told her helpfully.

“What?”

“Look, sweetheart, it’s nothing important. We’ll be back in a couple of hours.” He remembered the stakes, gentled his voice with an effort. “You just keep the place warm for us, yeah? And get ready to fetch that book.” He leaned over, putting a finger to her face. “And lock the door. Never know who might be around, eh?” He stooped, pulling her handbag from a chair and extracting keys. “Got spares in the flat? Good. We can let ourselves back in.”

She looked sleep-hazed still. “But you’re coming back?”

“Yeah, yeah. Course, love.” He was dressing as he spoke.

They left the flat in silence. Neither spoke as they padded down the stairs, out, and into the car. Bodie drove, gliding the car through the empty streets until they arrived at HQ.

“What’s the news, Geoff?”

“Branson’s gone suddenly paranoid. We’re getting talk over the wire of hostages and a siege.” Anson was succinct, his cigars absent now that action was on the cards. He was wearing heavy headphones and clearly listening to some external source. “Don’t know whether it’ll go off or not. Waiting to hear from Jax at the moment. You may as well pull up a chair for a bit.”

“So we might not even be needed? Bloody hell.” Doyle shrugged his jacket off to settle his weapon in its holster.

Anson glanced up at him, nose wrinkling. “Someone’s had a good night. No time for a shower, then?”

Doyle scowled. “Was called in direct. What you on about?”

“Oh, come on, Ray. You smell like Bodie looks. Dragged out of bed and keen to get back.” Anson gestured towards Bodie, who had headed for the kettle and the biscuit tin full of teabags. Eyes ringed and jaw stubbled, he looked dissolute. “Both hit the jackpot, eh? And I heard you told Control you were on a job tonight.”

“Were.”

“Yeah? And both coming in in the same car? You should be careful, 4.5. Coming in together, looking like that. People will start to talk.”

 _Shit. I don’t need this. Bloody army boys and their banter_.

“Yeah, yeah. Knock it off, eh?”

Anson grinned lazily. “Don’t forget to send us an invitation to the wedding.”

“Anson...”

“Ah, Doyle.” Cowley’s voice cut through the room effortlessly. “I see you decided to join us.”

“Was working, sir,” Doyle protested automatically. “On...” he paused, unsure suddenly how official their position was. “That job.”

“At 3 a.m.? I’m impressed by your keenness, man. No, you were pursuing your usual interests, I’m sure. Had pretty eyes, did she?”

_Just because you never get any..._

“Dunno, sir, wasn’t looking at her eyes.”

“Ach, you disappoint me, Doyle. And you, Bodie. You look no better.”

Bodie put the mugs down on the draining board in order to be able to spread his arms in surprised denial. “Sorry, sir. Was told it was an emergency. No time to shave.”

“Aye, that’s so. Or it was. It may be a waiting game after all.”

Cowley’s gaze safely on Bodie, Doyle rolled his eyes. Anson pulled a face in agreement. Cowley’s attention flicked towards him.

“What’s that, Anson?”

Anson’s mutter was subdued.

Cowley returned to the matter in hand. “This is Baines’s and Jessop’s operation overall. They’re in position outside the house, and I want you three to get down there to support them. McCabe and Lucas can take over the listening post here.”

Anson threw down the headphones with a gesture of relief. “Yes, sir.” He rose and left the room.

Bodie took a quick gulp of one of the mugs of tea and turned to follow.

“Before you go, gentlemen, an update, if you please.”

Bodie halted mid-step. Doyle winced at the thought of explaining all the details of the night. He was relieved to hear Bodie respond.

“Found the girl, sir, she’s agreed to turn the book over to us tomorrow. It does sound very likely it was Martin.” He paused. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Cowley scowled briefly. “Aye, Bodie. It was my poor judgement there. Don’t compound mine by losing this book. I want it. I want it badly. And I want to know who else has seen it.”

“So far, sounds like this girl – Nicole – and about half of Fleet Street, sir. Lucky it was in code.”

“Aye. Well. On my desk, as soon as possible. Now be off, the pair of you.”

“On his desk, as soon as possible,” Doyle imitated as Bodie drove. “It’d be easier if he hadn’t pulled us in. Suppose she changes her mind? We’ll look bloody fools if we have to drag her into HQ and she shoots her mouth off to all and sundry.”

Bodie was unruffled. “She’ll be fine. She wanted us back, remember?”

Doyle was assailed by a brief vision of Bodie kneeling back on his heels, Nicole seated on him, and Bodie’s eyes staring into his as he watched them. _Lucky she wasn’t too sharp._ _We must have been so obvious._

“And it was a good night, anyway,” added Bodie reminiscently.

_For you, maybe. I had plans for better._

Doyle gloomed all the way to their destination, where they pulled up in a space which was unexpectedly convenient for observation of the silent house, and settled down to wait.

 

“That’s _it_?” Doyle was outraged. Two and a half hours sitting heavy-eyed in a Capri with no heating, and then with no warning, the front door was open and Jessop and Baines were frogmarching Branson out. _No need for us at all. What a complete waste of time. We should have been safely asleep still. Just the two of us. No-one else interfering. And now..._

“Can’t get our guns out every time, 4.5.” Jessop was smug, having come over to the car for a few words and to dismiss them. “Some of us have finesse instead. Finesse _._ ” He spoke the word with relish.

“That’s French, that is. French for...” he paused, searching.

“Tosser,” suggested Bodie. “Snap out of it, Ray. Jessop was bound to solve a case one of these days. You can’t begrudge him one.”

“Oi!” Jessop was outraged in his turn. “That was first class detective work, that was.” He paused. “And, yeah, okay, the devil’s own luck when she tripped over right into my arms and needed a hand back to the house. What a lovely girl, eh? Pity her brother’s such a nasty piece of work.”

“Yeah, well. Among his many sins is depriving me of my beauty sleep.” Doyle rubbed his eyes, leaned back on the headrest, and closed his eyes.

“And you need it,” agreed Jessop and Bodie almost simultaneously. Doyle flapped his hand as if to disperse irritating gnats.

“Go on, boys,” urged Jessop. “Get your heads down. At least you don’t have five hours of report to write up. And thanks for the back-up.”

“No problem, Steve. See you.” Bodie let the clutch out and pulled away.

“Back to hers, eh? Or do you want to stop off and change on the way?”

Doyle considered. “Yeah, I do, but I want this over with. Let’s just get the thing picked up and then we can go home.”

 

Coffee from an all-night café did not materially improve Doyle’s opinion either of the previous night or of the promised morning, but at least he was feeling more alert as they returned to the flat. They parked in the same spot as before and slipped in. The carpet muffled their steps as they ascended the stairs. Doyle produced the keys and frowned as he put one after the other into the door.

“She didn’t lock up. Main one’s unlocked. Just the Yale on. Silly of her.”

Bodie shrugged. “Doubt she even thought about it.”

Doyle nodded and pushed the door open gently. Once it was shut behind, he flicked the light on, over Bodie’s objections.

“I want another coffee. No point in trying to sleep. It’s seven already. Want anything?”

“Tea,” Bodie acquiesced. “Make two, we can wake her with a smile then.”

_So long as we wake her soon._

Doyle found the kettle, the teabags and coffee, some cups and the milk. He switched the kettle on and gazed around the kitchen absent-mindedly. It felt... disturbed. Maybe she’d woken in the night and come through for a glass of water or something? Or...

“Ray.” Bodie’s voice was taut.

“Problem?” His hand was halfway to his holster before he realised. _Jesus. Got to calm down_.

Bodie was into the kitchen before he had pulled his hand down, and Bodie had his gun out too.

“Big problem,” he observed. “She’s dead.”

“What?”

“Dead.”

“How?”

“Dunno. No obvious marks. Smothered, maybe?”

Doyle reholstered his gun and started towards the bedroom. Bodie didn’t stop him.

She lay in the bed on her back, head turned to one side, and eyes closed. Doyle stood looking down at her, frowning. _Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Got in far too deep, didn’t she? Tried to warn her. Why didn’t she listen?_

“I’m assuming this isn’t a coincidence.” Bodie’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“Can’t be.” Doyle leaned on his elbow against the wall, pulling his other hand through his hair. “Got to be someone after the book. Which isn’t here. At least, she said not,” he added, heaving himself off the wall and opening the top drawer of the chest of drawers. After a quick glance, Bodie nodded and opened the wardrobe, feeling through the pockets of coats and running hands over the upper shelf.

A cursory search of the bedroom and main room didn’t take long. There was little evident in either drawers or bureau. Her jewellery case was in the wardrobe. The contents appeared largely intact, with the exception of the bottom drawer. This, the largest, was empty except for ten crisp £50 notes.

“Maybe she had it in here.”

“Maybe. But she said not.”

“Yeah, I know. If she did, we’re fucked. If it really was somewhere else, though...” Bodie paused to watch Doyle pace. “Where would she have put it? She said she could get it this morning.”

Doyle turned round to gesture helplessly. “Work, a friend, gym locker, could be anywhere.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Christ, Cowley’s going to love this.”

 

Cowley was far from pleased to be distracted from the triumph of Jessop’s operation. His opinion of them came through clearly on the R/T.

 _“I should be interrogating Branson, Bodie, and now you tell me you’ve lost the book_ _and_ _the only witness? What are you playing at, man? What possessed you?”_

“With _respect_ , sir, we were expecting to stay with her until we had the book in our hands. We didn’t expect to be called in.”

_“If there was an imminent threat, you should have made arrangements. Brought her in to HQ with you. Why didn’t you?”_

Doyle kept his back to Bodie and continued feeling along the bookcases, careful to keep his expression focussed on the search.

_Because bloody Bodie wanted a threesome and I didn’t want half the corridors of CI5 to hear about it. Which they bloody well would as soon as she opened her mouth._

“Because we didn’t know there was a threat at all, sir, let alone imminent. We did warn her to be careful, sir.”

_“Aye, no doubt. Right. I’ll send some of B squad over to look at the apartment.”_

“Thanks, sir. We've had a brief look over the place...” Out of the corner of his eye, Bodie saw Doyle wave an address book at him, “...and we may have a couple of leads.”

_“Good. Try to sort some of this mess out before tomorrow.”_

“About that, sir,” Bodie’s voice was hesitant, “We’re down for Macklin in the morning. Shall we rearrange that?”

_“No, you will damn well not! Macklin is not there for your convenience. Keep looking for that book. If you can’t find that, I’ll put you onto finding something larger. Off the Hebrides.”_

“Understood, sir. 3.7 out.” He put the R/T onto a nearby table. “So that’s that. A Sunday of pissing off the neighbours. They'll love us.”

Doyle looked round from his search. “Yeah. Better start on that, leave the flat to the B Squad, eh?”

Bodie nodded. “Come on, then.”

 

They left the door locked behind them and headed down the stairs. As they passed the downstairs flat door, they paused. Bodie raised his eyebrows, and Doyle nodded soberly. Bodie knocked on the door, then knocked again, harder, when no reaction was forthcoming. It was eventually opened by a dark-haired man in his thirties, glaring at them.

Doyle frowned. “Morning, sir.”

“Morning?” The man scowled. “It’s damn near last night still.”

“Yeah,” Doyle agreed, privately aware that as far as his body was concerned, it was still last night - god, he needed to sleep - and pushed on. “Who are you? Where’s Mrs Moxon?”

“Mrs Moxon,” observed the man heavily, “Is still in bed. And I’m not waking my mother up for two...” he looked them up and down, “two...whatever it is you are.”

“CI5,” Bodie interjected, unfolding his arms to reveal his card. “Got a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Who? Let me see that.” He read it, frowning, and looked up none the wiser. “Okay, what’s this about?”

“Just some questions.” Doyle was terse. “About last night. Were you here then?”

“Yes, but... Okay.”

“Do you know your upstairs neighbour? Woman, dyed blonde hair, looks...” he sketched a shape with his hands.

“Her? Not particularly, no, but heard more than I wanted to.”

“What’s that?”

“Noise travels in this place. Music, decorating, her bloody affairs.”

_Lovely. That had better not include us._

“Yeah? That might be a help. Can you tell us if you saw or heard anything – _anything_ ,” Doyle emphasised, “relating to that flat or its occupant over the last week? Particularly last night.”

The man laughed shortly. “Last night, eh? Well, she was entertaining last night, sure enough. Didn’t see who, though. Mum would probably have had a look, but she went to bed early. So she missed the excitement.”

Oh? _Careful, careful..._

“Yeah, she had some guy round. At it half the night, they were. Could hear the bed.”

_Oh, what? Can this get worse?_

“Could you?” He summoned up a lecherous smile from somewhere. “Friendly lady, then, was she?” _Sorry, Nicole._

The man shrugged. “She was alright, really. Bit too fond of a good time, I’d say.”

 

After a cheerless morning of waking a succession of householders at early hours on a Sunday and hearing their opinions on this activity, they finally hit pay dirt in the form of a dog walker who was both alert and forthcoming. As her Afghan hound stared Doyle down imperiously, she related to Bodie the occasions she’d seen a stranger loitering in the early hours.

“...yes, a Ford it was, a Ford Granada.” She paused. “I remember most of the registration plate, come to think of it. It reminded me of my first car.”

Doyle concentrated on outstaring the hound of hell, conscious of Bodie’s sudden tensing and renewed interest as he listened to the woman. Patiently, Bodie elicited a general description from her.

“Really? Thanks very much, you’ve been a great help. Come along, Doyle, you can stop glaring at the poor animal now.”

Once she was safely away, he raised his R/T to his mouth. “3.7. 3.7 to Control. Check out a reg. plate for us, will you?”

_“Will do, 3.7. Message from Armstrong for you. B squad are arriving at your location now. Are you there to let them in?”_

“Yeah, two minutes. 3.7 out.” He looked at Doyle. “They’re here.”

They let the four B squad agents into the flat, far too cheerful for a Sunday morning. Armstrong looked appraisingly from one to the other. “Mr Cowley said that if you still hadn’t got any sleep, you were to go off early, and get some. He doesn’t want you wasting Macklin’s time in the morning, he said.” He grinned. “Looking at you, you’d better hop it now. We’ll let you know if we find anything.”

“Thanks, Stu. ”

Bodie's R/T warbled into life. He turned aside slightly. “3.7. ”

“Control to 3.7. Got that licence plate for you. Registered to a Leon Korovin. Minor functionary, believed small time courier for the Russians, last came to our attention two years ago. There's a note on the file about the Parvanov defection ...”

“Yeah, I know, I was on that one.”

“...no current address known. Sorry.”

“Be too easy, wouldn't it? Thanks, Control. 3.7 out.” He settled his R/T back in its pocket and his eyes crinkled as he looked at his partner.

“Well, well. Come on, Doyle.”

Doyle followed him out.

“Looking pleased with yourself. What’s up?”

Bodie rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Leon. What a stroke of luck.”

“Leon?”

“Yeah. Leon. Korovin. Russian.” He frowned. “Need to put a rocket up Records’ backside, mind. He’s not a minor courier. Well, not unless things have changed. I'm pretty sure he’s KGB.”

“ _KGB?_ For Christ’s sake, how is that a stroke of luck?”

“Calm down, Ray. Okay, it’s not great news in that respect, but at least we’ve got a name. And it’s a pretty likely name, too. Barry was trying to deal with the Russians too, wasn’t he?”

Doyle grunted in agreement.

“So if they have heard about something being hawked around, they’re probably wondering the same as us.”

Doyle nodded reluctantly. “What’s in it, and which names.”

“Yeah. And, in their case, are any of them Russian? So sending Leon in makes sense.”

“Just a minute. Leon? How are you on first name terms with this guy anyway? How do you know him?”

Bodie laughed. “Haven’t you come across him? No, I suppose you were on that escort job that time we had most to do with him. He’s OK. Well. OK, as your average KGB agent goes, obviously. Laid back. Loves the west. Loves being stationed in England. Says he doesn’t like the winters back home. Too cold. Anyway, yeah. Run across him several times. Never directly against him, so we mostly just nodded warily and carried on with whatever we were doing. When we were both staking out the same Bulgarian place once, I sent him sandwiches by courier. He didn’t know whether to salute me or shoot at my window.”

_Know which one would be tempting._

“So he did both?”

“Nah.” Bodie fell silent for a minute. “He did do me a favour, though.”

Doyle shot him a glance. He knew Bodie well enough to know that his by-any-means-necessary philosophy went hand in hand with three or four rigid rules. One of those rules involved favours and debts.

“Yeah?”

Bodie looked gloomily at Doyle. “Let’s just say that I hope I don’t have to shoot him.”

Doyle grimaced. “Just so long as you don’t hope that when he’s got me in his sights.”

“What do you take me for?”

“Someone who owes a debt.”

“Mmm.” Bodie didn’t seem disposed to confirm or deny that and moved on. “Okay, what’s the plan? What did we pick up from the flat? Anything?”

Doyle rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. Address pad and calendar next to the phone. We know where she worked. Top Shop.” He stretched. “No point in waiting for Monday, is there? Better get hold of the manager to open the place up for us to check.”

“Yeah. I suppose so. Just in case. But I can’t really see her keeping it in the staff room, can you?”

“Not really. Got to check, though.” He reached for the R/T. “Control? Can you track someone down for us?”

Once tracked down, the manager, one Jonathan Ellis, proved helpful. He opened the shopfront shutters and escorted them in. They followed him across the shop floor, picking their way through the alien territory of ra-ra skirts and layered tights to a door at the back into a corridor. Racks of clothes vied for space with bags stuffed with discarded packing material and a couple of dismembered mannequins.

Half a dozen lockers stood further back, the door to one hanging forlornly open.

“Just the staffroom, you wanted?” Ellis hovered.

“Yeah. Well. Anywhere else she might have left property?”

“Well, she did have a locker.” He indicated one of them.

“Got the key?”

“For somebody else’s locker?” He sounded scandalised, and gesticulated in a vague way. “I suppose someone must have, but not me.”

Doyle exchanged a glance with Bodie. He patted his pocket. Bodie nodded fractionally and turned to Ellis. “Perhaps if you showed me the staffroom?”

“What about your colleague?” Ellis was confused.

“Oh, he’ll be keeping an eye on the front for us.” Bodie’s tone turned from breezy to confiding as he and Ellis moved away. “Between you and me, mate, I reckon he likes to look at all those pretty mannequins...”

As soon as Bodie was out of sight, Doyle had his lock picks out and was gently probing the extremely basic lock. It took only a few seconds. There was a clang as he got the lock turned, and the door swung open. Rapidly he scanned the contents. Tupperware lunchbox. Spare tights. Lipstick. Perfume. Beneath the shelf was an umbrella. He glanced into the lunch box, but knew before he did so: it was empty. Nothing. He shut the door wearily and fiddled the lock back into place, then trooped in the direction of the others.

Bodie was just emerging from the staffroom. Catching sight of Doyle, he shook his head. “Nope.” He turned to the manager. “Thanks for your time, Mr Ellis. We’ve got all we need.”

Ellis smiled worriedly. “That’s all right. Can you tell me what all this is about?”

“Sorry, no.”

“But is Nicole all right?”

“Ah. Afraid not,” Bodie prevaricated. “We’re investigating.”

“Well, we’ll all be thinking of her.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.”

 _Bodie, you..._ Doyle bit off the thought, and headed out into the light. Outside the shop, they paused, the cold air refreshing them briefly.

“Where next?”

“She was talking about getting it today, wasn’t she? So something open or something she could get into on Sundays. She had a gym membership. Might be open on Sundays.”

“Yeah, good idea. Which way?”

Unlike the high street, the gym was open on Sundays, but finding a member of staff willing to speak to them proved tiresome. The place was busy, weekend fitness fanatics out in full force. Doyle glared impersonally around the room, imagining Bodie on the same machines. _Wipe the floor with the lot of you. Christ, keep your mind on the job._ He came to himself to find Bodie looking at him curiously.

“All right?”

“Tired.” It was the truth, he realised. _Sooner we finish here the better_.

Bodie clearly recognised Doyle was losing patience and played up to it, managing to loom that bit more imposingly. This had the desired effect on the next employee they spoke to, but even so, they elicited no useful information. Yes, she was a member. No, he didn’t know who her friends were. Yes, she came to Ladies’ Thursdays. No, members didn’t have their own lockers: they took whichever was free.

Back in the car, Bodie turned the key in the ignition. “That’s that, then. Where now?”

“Well, you’re driving.” Doyle yawned.

“Home.” Bodie was decisive. “We both need a rest. You,” he added, “need to shave. It’s been like walking around with Blackbeard today.” He rubbed his own jaw reflectively.

Doyle ignored that and sank into a gloomy silence.

“Wake up. We’re here.” He was jogged out of a doze.

“Where?” He stirred himself and looked. Outside Bodie’s flat. “Oh. Right. You got food in?”

“Course.” Bodie sounded injured. “If you remember, we were planning a long weekend. I know we’ve lost half of it, but...” he flapped a hand. “We can catch up with some of it.”

“Surprised you’re still interested.” His tone was barbed with bitterness.

“What’s that for?”

“Nothing. Sorry. Come on.” Ashamed, he swung out of the car.

Wisely, Bodie said little as he busied himself in the kitchen. Doyle headed straight for the bathroom. Bodie had a shower in this flat – _All CI5 flats should have_ _showers_ , Doyle thought as he stood under the streaming water, _we need them often enough_ – and Doyle kept a spare razor over there just in case.

Wandering into the kitchen wrapped in a towel, he was surprised to hear his stomach rumble. Bodie, jacket and shirt discarded now, placed scrambled egg and grilled bacon in front of him and fetched a plateful of buttered white bread to sit by the brown sauce.

“If you want sausages, they’ll take longer.”

“Nah, this is fine. Thanks,” he added belatedly.

Bodie grinned tiredly. “No problem. And aww …” he reached over and stroked a finger along Doyle’s jawline. “You got rid of it already.”

Doyle made to snap at Bodie’s fingers. “Watch it. I’m hungry.”

“So I see. So,” he added, “am I.”

“Well, you were the one doing cooking.”

“Not for that. Well, that too,” Bodie admitted. He got up and came round behind Doyle’s chair. Doyle swallowed a mouthful of egg and bread hastily as Bodie’s arms snaked over his shoulders and came to rest there.

“Bodie? What?”

Bodie’s teeth nipped gently at the back of his neck. He felt his skin begin to goosebump. “Hey...”

“You want me to stop?”

“I...”

Tiny nips trailed down his neck and along the top of his shoulder.

“I don’t want to,” Bodie interspersed his words with gentle rubbing with a forefinger of each place he had nipped Doyle. “Come on, Ray. Been waiting for this all weekend.”

“You...?” Outraged, Doyle surged to his feet, throwing Bodie off. “You were quick enough to jump into bed with her _and me_ last night! Will I be enough for you, d’you think?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

“What?”

“You’re being ridiculous. Yesterday – just yesterday,” Bodie emphasised, “You were setting me up for a night with Helen. Remember?”

“Yeah, but the difference... the difference _is_ , Bodie, that...” he subsided, unsure suddenly how to explain.

Bodie waited him out. When no answer was forthcoming, he rolled his eyes. “I tell you what. If you’re having trouble with differences, I’ll help you out. The difference is, they’re birds. Nicole. Helen.” He paused, taken by a thought, “No, that’s not the difference.” He considered briefly, and started again. “It’s not that they’re women. It’s that they’re... normal. Everyday. That thing with Nicole last night, even that was pretty... well...” He shrugged, and his voice hardened. “Whatever you like to think, Ray, whatever your little fantasy future is, we’re not like that. Not in that world. We weren’t really in it before. We said goodbye to it when we took this job. We definitely aren’t now. That,” he waved his hand, “isn’t for us. We’re not doing this because we can't get it any other way, are we? Hardly. It’s because we understand each other. We know each other. We match each other. We fit each other. Not like all the people we run into in the course of the job. We can handle them. The _difference_ , Ray, is that with us two...” he lunged, “I can take you down.”

Doyle, taken by surprise, jumped back a step to defend himself, and barged into the table. He could go no further back. Bodie seized his advantage to grab him and bring his mouth on a bruising kiss, his stubble rasping on Doyle’s chin. Doyle gasped, and as his mouth opened, Bodie’s tongue plunged in.

Bodie was clearly intent on making a point. His tongue worked its way around Doyle’s mouth, and his lips pressed hard against Doyle, pressing lips against teeth. Doyle’s upper lip slipped a bit, dragging against a tooth, and he tasted blood in his mouth.

Inflamed, he pushed back. He twisted his head to free himself, shifting and feeling Bodie’s stubble now against his cheek. He brought his arms up, sliding them up Bodie’s arms, feeling the small hairs raise, to grip his shoulders from behind. Once he had a firm hold, he tensed, ready to throw Bodie off. He twisted and thrust.

Bodie had obviously been waiting for this and simply renewed his assault, driving Doyle back against the table. His lips pressed hard on Doyle’s again. Doyle was ready this time, biting back. Bodie paused for a second, and this time Doyle used the table behind to launch himself forward, overbearing Bodie and toppling them both to the floor.

They fell hard, legs tangled. Doyle heard Bodie’s head hit the floor at the same time that a shocking jolt spread from his elbow up his left arm. He could feel streaks of pain pulsing as he brought a hand over Bodie’s head, fingers automatically probing gently for damage. Bodie shook him off irritably.

_Oh, well. If that’s what you want, fine._

Bodie’s hands were at his waist, fumbling with his towel. _The disadvantage of being on top,_ he thought, crazily, and pushed his right hand down to Bodie’s groin. He could feel Bodie there, hot and erect. Keeping him immobilised with his weight, he picked frantically at Bodie’s flies.

The belt was in his way. He undid it one-handed, and pulled. Bodie arched his back and the belt unspooled from about him, hissing. Briefly, Doyle allowed himself to imagine other possibilities – _wrapping the belt around Bodie’s wrists, or the hiss of the belt through the air_ – before coming back to himself, himself and Bodie, sprawled across the lino of Bodie’s kitchen, Bodie’s eyes holding satisfaction and challenge as he focussed on them.

_Yes. This._

Reasonably confident of his ability to hold Bodie down he shifted, taking his weight onto his knees to give himself leeway, scrabbling to push Bodie’s trousers down at the front, and to pull at them from below. Again, Bodie lifted fractionally. His eyes were hazing slightly, and Doyle could smell him clearly – unshaven, unwashed, and carrying a day’s work and a night in bed about him.

_Now I’ve got him. Mine._

He dipped down to Bodie’s neck, and the space between it and shoulder. He wanted to bite. To pull. To bruise. He wanted them together without outside interference. He wanted them in their own world together, completing each other. But...

His thoughts were leaping ahead of him, tempting him. He imagined marks on Bodie’s neck where he had sucked and worried at it, imagined indentations where he had bitten, imagined looking at them, knowing they were where he had chosen, where he had left his mark. They couldn’t do it though: couldn’t bend, and glance, and select, and find that spot, the right point just _there_ , couldn’t bite just _so_ –

“Jesus, Ray!”

Bodie bunched under him and threw him off, one arm pushing to send him flying to his side. He caught himself before his head could hit the floor, cushioning himself, aware of the cold lino along the length of his spine and the backs of his thighs.

“What was that about?”

Bodie was on him now, their positions reversed. Trousers kicked off, lips bruised, faint redness on his wrists from Doyle’s hands. Doyle tried to bring his legs up, fruitlessly.

“Right then,” Bodie grinned tautly at him. “You’ve been angling for this. No?”

Undefeated, Doyle glared at him. “Get on with it.”

Bodie’s grin softened and he leant down to kiss him. More gently, this time, their lips barely brushing. Doyle held out stubbornly for a moment, and then gave himself up to it, feeling Bodie’s gentle pressure there and slowly becoming aware of another pressure further down. Bodie’s hand was running along his flank and coming round to cradle his genitals, feel feather-light over his balls, and then run smoothly up his cock. The fingers paused at the tip, waiting until moisture seeping from Doyle’s cock had dampened them, and then circled gently round, round and down and in spirals, down until they reached the dark hair at the base, only to close around his penis and sweep smoothly back up. 

Doyle strained forward. Bodie pulled back and stared at him.

“You want to stay here? Or move? What d’you want?”

_I want what I couldn’t have last night. You. I want to touch you. I want you to touch me. I want to fuck. I want to fuck hard._

Doyle bared his teeth. “Your arse. Or mine. Don’t care.”

“Bedroom, then.”

Doyle narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“For something here, remember?” Bodie slithered his hand round under Doyle’s backside. Unable to find his way to his destination, he settled for prodding at Doyle with his finger.

“Can do it dry.” Impatiently.

“Can do it dry,” Bodie repeated, rolling his eyes. “Can do it dry. Jesus. Yeah, I know we can,” irritation now, “We can also do it with something there to help. And it’s Macklin in the morning. If you remember?” The finger jabbed, hard, painfully. “And god knows what else for the rest of the day. So if you could try and be sensible? Just for once?”

Still pinned, Doyle grimaced.

Bodie rolled his eyes, then blinked, focussing.

“What?”

“Can’t believe I’m considering this.” Bodie scowled, and jerked his head at the kitchen surface. Doyle followed his gaze.

“It’ll do. Get it.”

Doyle lay still while Bodie groped for the packet of butter and knocked it down within reach.

“You sure?”

“Get on with it, Bodie! Or I’ll do you – here – and I’m a lot more sure about it than you seem to be.”

Bodie clearly swallowed a riposte, and gouged a handful from the packet. He regarded it dubiously.

“Bodie!”

“Right, Ray, you asked for it.” Experimentally, he smoothed it onto himself. His nostrils flared slightly and he reached for another palmful and slathered it on again. He sat back slightly and pressed his open palm against Doyle’s flank.

“Over you go.”

Doyle pushed himself up with alacrity, and swung round, switching from supine to prone. He heard the packet rustle and then there it was, Bodie’s forefinger pressing carefully in, greasy, wiping the butter around the edges of his anus. He scowled.

“Don’t need that, you’ve got enough on you.”

A smack across his hip, and not gentle. “Ray! Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

Bodie’s hand was groping at him properly now, between his legs, pushing his cheeks apart. Doyle wriggled impatiently, and abruptly pushed himself up, so that he was kneeling up, Bodie behind him still.

He shuffled backwards until he could feel the tip of Bodie’s cock – _there_ – just bobbing there, tried to line himself up, and then pushed down hard.

Bodie caught a breath, and then breathed out again, breath damp on Doyle’s shoulder. He pressed forward, his head onto Doyle’s shoulder and his cock – ah, at last – his cock jabbing inside. There was a brief struggle as they both tried to line themselves up – _Shit, relax, relax..._ – and then – _Ah_ _h..._ – Bodie was in him. Bodie was with him, was all around him.

He pushed back roughly, and Bodie clutched harder at him.

“Yes...”

He hadn’t realised he had spoken aloud until Bodie reacted. “Yeah? Right then,” and slid out almost entirely, before thrusting forward, once, hard. He gasped. Bodie stayed there for a long moment, his head resting on Doyle’s shoulder, and then began to thrust in earnest. Doyle groped round for Bodie’s hand, found it, and brought it forward to rest on his upright cock. Bodie took the hint, and began to move his hand, slowly at first and increasingly rapidly, just about managing to keep both that rhythm and the rhythm of his thrusts into Doyle separate and consistent. His other arm had snaked below Doyle’s arm, round his ribcage, and was holding him in place as he pressed forward.

The floor was cold. The table was too close. If they knocked a chair over, it would be landing on them. His leg was caught awkwardly. He was aware of it all on some level, but the world was narrowing again, down to him and Bodie and what they were doing, and what Bodie was doing to him, and how Bodie was pushing into him. The outside world and its dangers were safely locked away. Or was it that they were locked away from those? In here, it was just him, Bodie, and what they did to each other...

He came, gasping.

Bodie’s hand moved away from his penis, and came to mirror his other hand and hold him around his middle. He thrust again, and again, and then buried himself and remained still. Doyle could feel the pulsing within him, and knew that Bodie had followed him over the edge. He stayed perfectly still, Bodie apparently content to remain in place for as long as he could.

Eventually Bodie pulled out with a soft sound and Doyle was aware of cold air on his arse and a seeping sensation.

 _Oh, lovely_.

Bodie turned Doyle by his shoulder and laid his head on it before raising it again.

“Ray, you’re going to be the death of me. Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.”

Doyle sighed, and stood, pulling Bodie up after him.

 

Their clean-up was cursory and practical. Doyle consigned the mess of breakfast to the bin and set about the process again while Bodie disappeared into the bathroom. He emerged with a grimace.

“Butter. Jesus.”

Doyle was inclined to agree but had no intention of saying so. “Take it you won’t want more bread and butter then?”

Bodie lofted an eyebrow at Doyle and went to the breadboard. Doyle grinned ruefully. Bodie smirked and passed a doorstep over towards him.

“Staying over?”

Doyle paused, troubled. “Tempting. I’m knackered. But... Not sure it’s a good idea.”

“If the Cow’s got surveillance on these flats, then we’ve done enough to get ourselves kicked out already. So I think we can conclude he hasn’t. You stopping the night’s hardly going to raise an eyebrow.”

“You didn’t hear Anson then?”

“Ah, he makes the same comment to everyone. You know that. I’d be more worried if he stopped. Come on. This whole thing is getting to you. Calm down. Sleep.”

Too tired to argue, Doyle did, claiming twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep, unconscious to the world, the only exception that portion of it which formed his partner’s presence by his side.

 


	3. Monday

 

Hoarse breathing echoed around the gym. Bodie’s face was strained, his expression closed. Sweat beaded his forehead. Doyle, intrigued, realised he could almost see it forming as he watched him intently. Bodie was lying almost supine, caught in the hold Macklin was demonstrating. His back was arched, and his legs taut.

Without warning, he slumped back down to the ground and signalled defeat. Doyle scowled. It was one thing for him to try to best his partner, quite another for other people actually to do it.

“Right.” Macklin’s clipped tones obscured Bodie’s grunt of relief. “Doyle.”

Doyle unfolded himself from the wall and walked forward warily, shaking the tenseness out of his limbs. It had been a long day. He spared a flick of his eyes to Bodie, who was laboriously clambering to his feet. Bodie’s eyes met his and darted, indicating something. _What’s over to my right?_ _Oh, yes..._

As Macklin shuffled forward, posture cautious, Doyle feinted and rapidly pulled back from Macklin’s reach. _Round a bit more..._ Macklin waded closer towards him. _And again..._ He knew the layout of this warehouse, and let himself be backed towards the wall.

“Sloppy, Doyle. Definitely sloppy,” admonished Macklin, before Doyle’s arms shot out to grab the fire hose attached to the wall and yank it forward. _Got it._

The hose stopped short suddenly, and Doyle froze, startled, before Macklin sprang. Doyle slithered out of his reach lithely and cast the end of the hose down in disgust. As Macklin closed in again, he committed himself and engaged him in earnest. The struggle renewed. Macklin was clearly trying to leave an opening that would tempt Doyle into closer quarters. Doyle shifted his weight from side to side as he pondered options.

Decision made, he pushed off from one foot and kicked hard at Macklin’s kneecap. The blond man whipped his leg out of the way and as he took his weight and balance on the other foot, Doyle hooked his leg back, scything Macklin’s out from under him. As Macklin crashed to the floor, Doyle was on him, his arm across Macklin’s neck. Macklin strained to break the hold, and then submitted quietly. After a tense few seconds, Doyle concluded it was over, and pushed himself backwards, but not before he had ruffled Macklin’s hair with a savage grin first.

Macklin clambered to his feet. “Good. You’re hurrying. But you’re controlling it. Better. Much better.” He glanced at the clock high on the wall of the old gymnasium. “Loosen yourselves up, get into the shower, and then...” He jerked his head at the small office. “Cuppa, if you want one.”

Doyle cast a glance at Bodie, who seemed none the worse for his experiences, and unlikely to launch a surprise attack on Macklin for the moment. He watched Bodie turn and saw Macklin head toward the office. Apparently Macklin wasn’t going to be launching a surprise attack either.

The clouds of steam filling the shower room were almost as relaxing as the hot water itself. Wordlessly, Doyle soaped down Bodie’s back, covering him with lather, pressing hard, and following the contours of Bodie’s body down, before turning his back to Bodie. Bodie returned the favour, his hands impersonal now, but Doyle was aware of the spread of his fingers nevertheless, stretching down his back, down, down to his flanks. _Yeah_. He relaxed, grateful for the heat of the water. Macklin might try to take them apart, but he was happy to keep their bodies together in the interim.

A finger passing over his ribs provoked a twinge, and he pulled forward.

“Yeah, mate, got a bit of a bruise there,” agreed Bodie. “Sorry.”

Sorry? Why was Bodie apologising for catching one of his bruises? He had bruises everywhere most days.

 _Oh. It’s from yesterday. Or – no. That night the other week. Must be. Got a bit fraught that time, wrestling around like that. Even more than yesterday. Think it was tougher than Macklin’s practice sessions. Still..._ He moved a hand back around his torso and pressed ruminatively. _It was worth it. Oh yes._

A blast of cold air heralded the arrival of someone else.

“That’s not one from this morning. Far too early.” Macklin inspected their bodies with an impartial eye. Doyle resisted the urge to spring apart from Bodie and merely turned his head towards Macklin.

“No,” he agreed levelly. “Must have been... what’s ’er name, now...” He turned back to Bodie, “You know, the cute redhead.”

“What, the one whose number I gave you?” offered Bodie.

Macklin held up a hand. “Keep your tall tales for the rest room, lads. Finish up and get over to the office before the kettle boils dry.”

The kettle was bubbling happily to itself when they arrived. Macklin served tea strong enough to unblock drains and opened a packet of Battenberg cake. “What you on this week? You weren’t in on the Branson job?”

“Nah,” Bodie was dismissive. “If Jessop can deal with it, it doesn’t need us as well. No, we’re hunting wild geese. Wild geese left behind by your predecessor.” He looked directly at Macklin. Macklin raise an eyebrow.

“What? Barry Martin?”

Bodie nodded. “Seems he might have been a busy little boy. Collecting names and misdemeanours. Spying on the wrong side, know what I mean?”

Macklin focussed on Bodie. “Go on.”

Doyle got up to refill his mug. “He left a book behind. Blackmail book, apparently. Notes about people in it. Thought he had the dirt on all sorts of people he’d worked with. From MI5 to CI5. So we’re looking for the book.”

“So it’s a book of names? Names from CI5? And notes?” Macklin pursued the question.

“Why, you think you might be in it? I wouldn’t worry,” Bodie offered Macklin his best insincere smile. “Although I’m sure the incident with Cowley’s whisky will come to light in the end.” Macklin looked at Bodie, unamused, and Bodie continued on a more serious note. “You arrived after he left. It’s the people who were here then who are in trouble.”

“They might well be.”

Doyle glanced back at Macklin as he returned to his seat. “Oh?”

“Yes.” Macklin was abrupt. “So where’s the book?”

“Well, if we knew that...!” Doyle threw up his hands. “He left it at a girlfriend’s place; she moved; someone else found it; she’s dead; and now we’re faced with going through her life with a fine-tooth comb until we work out what she did with it. And... _and_ ,” he emphasised, “she trotted round half of Fleet Street with it and there’s a good chance the Russians want it too.”

“Hmm.” Macklin sank into thought, staring at his tea. Doyle cast a surprised glance at Bodie. Bodie pulled a face back – _your guess is as good as mine_ – and waited. Finally Macklin looked up at them.

“You might be in trouble here, boys.”

Doyle’s immediately suspicious “What?” was overrun by Bodie.

“Well, we’ll get it eventually...” he began.

Macklin shook his head at him. “Not that. You’re competent enough – brilliant sometimes. I’m sure you’ll get it.”

He gave them no time to preen or to settle on their laurels. “Look.”

He got to his feet and went to a metal wall locker. He opened it and they could see a dozen lever arch binders crammed together, a sheaf of loose paper above them awaiting filing.

“That’s my files. My notes on you. Oh, not all of them. Just the facts I need to hand. The facts I need to know about to keep you boys alive and kicking. Kicking like you, Doyle.”

Doyle saluted him ironically with his mug.

The locker clanged as Macklin shut it again. He looked from one to the other. “But when I took over in this job, I started with somebody else’s files. Martin’s files. I went through them a few months into the job. There wasn’t much I needed to keep from them. They didn’t seem that complete. So I got rid of them.”

“And?”

“Wait for it, Bodie.” Macklin’s voice was taut. “I might have got rid of them, but I remember those files. I remember that I thought something was missing. Because as I went through them, there were check marks. Comments in the margins about ‘see notebook’. ‘Noted’. That sort of thing. Not on every file. Far from it. But on some. But there were no other notes. None that I could find. No notebook. I kept an eye out for the first year or so here, in case it showed up and turned out to be important. But it never did. So I threw out the old files and got on with my job.” He paused and looked at them. “Now you tell me you’re looking for a notebook. And it’s supposed to be about corruption in CI5?”

“Well. Security risks. CI5. MI5 too, maybe. Barry started there, didn’t he?” _Why are you bringing this up, Macklin?_ Doyle was starting to get a very bad feeling.

“He did. But I don’t think it’s MI5 who need to worry. You need to watch yourselves, boys. You were here when Barry was here. And you were in those files.”

Doyle forced himself to look enquiring as Macklin finished.

“And you had check marks by your names too.”

_Christ._

“Oh yeah?” Doyle was careful to remain casual. “That’ll be one more I owe him for. Making fools out of us, trying to off Cowley, and now we learn he thought he had something on us? _Thought,_ ” he emphasised, looking up at Macklin.

“Yes.”

“Amazing he got into CI5, his detective skills, really. Just us? Or were there others in this happy band?”

“There were others.” A shadow of regret crossed Macklin’s face. “And before you ask, no, I can’t give you a complete list. It’s five years ago. The files went to the shredder long ago.”

Doyle scowled. “You just remember us?”

“Hard to forget you. Much as I may try.”

Doyle swung his legs back under himself and stood, stretching.

“No one else?”

“Not for sure. The only name I think I remember is...” he trailed off and thought. “Welsh name. Evans?”

“Morgan?”

“Yes. That’d be it.”

“Damn.”

Macklin raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Morgan had... connections... by marriage,” explained Bodie briefly. “Irish connections. Said he’d left it all behind though. Hey,” he added, a thought apparently striking him, “If it’s just connections, perhaps Barry thought Doyle had bent mates in the Met.”

_Oh, nice one._

“Perhaps, Bodie.” Macklin didn’t sound convinced. He stood up, collecting the mugs. “Don’t worry about these. I’ll clean up here. I’ve got to make tracks for Warwick. You two can take advantage of the time and get out early. But, one thing. A word. I didn’t train you only to lose you, you know. Be careful.” He held their gaze and then jerked his head. “Right. Out of here.”

 

“He knows.” Bodie’s voice was steady, but Doyle could hear the taut concern in it.

Doyle frowned. “Knows what?”

Bodie’s hands whitened on the steering wheel. “About us. Or if he doesn’t know, he suspects.”

“You think?”

“That was a bloody odd look he gave us in the shower. And then to go straight from the shower to that conversation...” Bodie shook his head slightly. “He might not be a field agent now, but he used to be. If he can’t make connections, he wouldn’t be in the job.”

Doyle rubbed his nose. “Could be. Damn. So now what?”

“I dunno, Ray. I’m running out of ideas.” Bodie’s eyes darted around, seeking opportunities in the traffic. “We’re getting caught out at every turn. Nicole dead, book gone, can’t find Leon, no idea where the book is... Everything we do is jinxed on this one.”

“Don’t start getting superstitious on me, Bodie.” Doyle’s voice was hard. Inside, his mind was racing. He brooded until they reached a junction and Bodie’s voice broke in.

“Which way?”

“Eh?”

“Which way? What we doing now? Got,” he glanced at his watch, “half an hour extra free.”

Doyle shrugged. “And not a lot to do with it.”

“Well, think of something, Ray!”

“Hey, Bodie! Calm down. Okay, look, let’s take a break. Back to your place. There’s grub left, isn’t there?”

Bodie cast a glance at him and nodded.

_Good. We need to talk. And I don’t want you running out on me. So let’s make sure we’re at yours. No place to run to then._

 

“Tea? Coffee? Can of something?”

Doyle shook his head to the offer and looked at Bodie’s mug. “Put it down.”

One eyebrow raised, Bodie did as Doyle said, placing it carefully on the living room table.

_Where to start?_

He plunged in.

“We’ll get out of this, Bodie. Look at me.”

Bodie looked at him, eyes sombre.

Doyle persevered. “You’re brooding. Who was it who told me yesterday not to panic? Said this KGB guy – Leon? – was actually a stroke of luck?”

Bodie got up and paced around the table.

“I know I did, but that was before this morning. Macklin.”

“Naah. He doesn’t know. The most he does is suspect. Not the same.”

“Suspects, knows, what’s the difference? He knows we’re in the book. He told us we were. He saw the bruises.”

“He can’t do anything with the bruises. You’ve got them. I’ve got them. He’s got them. It’s part of the job. Particularly part of his job,” Doyle added parenthetically, “Sadist that he is.” He pulled a face.

“Hadn’t really thought about the book though. Yeah. So we’re in it?”

“Sounds like.”

“Yeah. Fuck. But how?” Doyle sounded frustrated. “When was he keeping this bloody book? We never even started till way after he went rogue. I don’t get this at all.” He ran a hand through his hair.

Bodie, watching, regained his mug of tea and held it out silently to Doyle.

Doyle nodded abstractedly. “Thanks. So, well. Does this actually change anything?” He glanced sharply at Bodie. “I take it you’re not thinking of trying to call this off?”

Bodie dismissed that with an irritable glare.

“Right. So. Macklin may wonder. But he’s never said anything before – and all he really said this time was to watch ourselves. If that was a warning, it was a friendly one.”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah. So, yeah, now what? Where do we go from here?”

Bodie shook his head, lost in thought.

“Ah, Bodie, what am I going to do with you?” He stepped forward, took Bodie’s shoulders, brought his forehead to Bodie’s. “Look. We can’t do much more tonight. We need the results of the search from B squad. Tomorrow... Well, if nothing comes up from B squad, we start doing the rounds of the papers. See if the money means she’d sold it after all.”

Bodie nodded. “Yeah. She said she’d talked to four, didn’t she?”

“More than that, maybe, but she mentioned four, yeah. _The Telegraph_? _The Sun_?”

Bodie nodded. “Start with Fleet Street? Or with the Wapping ones?” He frowned. “ _The Times_ moved there, didn’t it? And _The Sun_ , then?”

“Either. Right. That’s tomorrow.” Doyle narrowed his eyes appraisingly. “How about plans for tonight?”

“You want to stay over? Again?” Bodie was startled. “After...”

“After what I said yesterday? Yeah, okay. And no, I don’t want to stay over. Want you coming back with me. Not sitting here brooding.”

Bodie’s eyes finally blazed. “Right, that’s it. After the way you’ve behaved all weekend, you’ve got the fucking cheek to comment on me. _You_ , you...”

Doyle grinned savagely. “That’s more like it. Come on. Take me home. And then you can tell me what you think of me. Want you angry, Bodie, not brooding on your own. But no heading out to settle things without me. We’ve seen what happens when do you that. And too many of your old mates turn out not to be as trustworthy as you hope. And they’re generally supposed to be on the same side to start with. Not bloody KGB. Not having another one of them try and take you from me. We do it together. Want you where I can see you at the moment.”

“Christ. You’re a nutter at times, Ray.” Bodie shook his head, but was already picking up holster and harness from the chair. He disappeared into the bedroom and reappeared with a sports bag a moment later. He jingled his car keys. “Come on then. Your carriage awaits.”


	4. Tuesday

They had barely got to sleep when they were woken from slumber by the phone. Bodie automatically reached for it before cursing quietly to himself. They had to be more careful about this. Too late this time.

“Is that Doyle?”

“Bodie. Doyle’s listening.” Bodie glanced at Doyle, whose eyes were huge in the gloom but unfocussed as he listened to the conversation. “Knowles,” he mouthed to him before returning his attention to the receiver.

“You people don’t make it easy to contact you, do you?”

“Not supposed to be easy, mate. If it’s important, it’ll get to us.” He glanced at the bedside clock. “What is it?”

“That book.”

“Yeah?” Suddenly alert, Bodie struggled to his elbows.

“You wanted it, yeah?”

“Yes. What about it?”

“I think I know where it was.”

“Was? No, go on.” Bodie caught himself.

“I’ve got a friend on the night desk at the _Mirror._ Apparently one of the senior staff reporters has had a break-in. The editor’s hopping mad. It’s spoiled some scoop.”

“And you think it’s our boy?”

“If Nicole Geraldson sold the book, almost certainly. I’ve been trying to get hold of her, but there’s no answer at her flat.”

“Nah, wouldn’t be.”

Doyle darted a glance at Bodie. Bodie’s face was sombre, but his tone hadn’t changed.

“So, this reporter. Who is he, and where does he live?”

“Hang on, I’ve got the address here.” There was a rustling on the line as Knowles fumbled for something. “Okay, here it is.” He rattled it off. “Look, I have to go. Sitting around flirting with staff on the rival paper isn’t exactly encouraged. Calling you lot with stuff going on there definitely isn’t.”

“Ah, living on the edge, are we?”

“I will be if I don’t get off this phone.”

“Okay, thanks, Mr Knowles. We’ll be in touch.”

Bodie rang off abruptly and looked at Doyle. “You heard?”

“Every word.” Doyle scowled as he rose up. “This isn’t getting better, is it? Your car or mine?”

“Did you fill the tank up in yours over the weekend?”

“No,” Doyle looked baffled. “Why bother when I can do it for cheaper in the motor pool?”

Bodie rolled his eyes. “Mine, then. You cheapskate. And don’t think you’re driving it.”

 

“I’m getting too used to this,” Doyle observed as the car slid through the empty streets. He was in his usual position, curled in the passenger seat, with one foot propped on the dash. “We should apply for permanent nights and get time and a half in the first place.”

“If we still have a job after this.” Bodie was morose.

Doyle scowled. “Point. Where is this guy?”

“Should just be coming up there now. Oh, hell, it’s going to be that one, isn’t it?”

A white panda car with rotating lights was parked in front of the address they were looking for. Both front seats were vacant.

“Uniform were quick off the mark for once. Damn.” Doyle clenched his fist and smacked his knee in frustration.

“A difficult job under difficult circumstances,” Bodie kept his face straight as he said it.

Doyle scowled as they came to rest. “I never said that.” His brow furrowed. “Did I?” His question went unanswered as they strode up the path.

Like its neighbours, the house was a respectable semi-detached, with a manicured front garden. Unlike its neighbours, lights shone out from both upstairs and downstairs windows. The front door was open.

Sharing a glance, they let themselves in. A uniformed police officer emerged from the front room.

“Who are you? What do you think you’re--”

“CI5,” Bodie interrupted. He flashed his ID at the constable. “Bodie. Doyle.” He nodded his head briefly towards his partner and departed, heading further into the house. “Where is he?”

The policeman was left standing as Bodie disappeared. Coming to himself, he turned his attention to Doyle. “CI5? What’s going on?”

Doyle showed his ID absent-mindedly. “Yeah. What’s been nicked? Any leads?”

“Well... documents,” the officer began. “Documents from a safe. Memoirs, apparently.”

“Memoirs? National bloody secrets, more like,” Doyle offered irritably. “Did he tell you he was planning to leak them all over his rag?”

“National secrets?” He looked startled. “No, very cagey, Mr Molloy was.”

“Oh yeah? Was he? We’ll see how bloody cagey he is with Bodie. Meantime, what did he have to tell you? Anything useful? And fast,” he rapped out.

_Or we’ve lost him and we’ve lost our jobs. Where the fuck is he?_

The policeman riffled through his notebook. Doyle restrained his impatience. _Come on..._

“Mr Molloy expected to be working tonight. ‘Filing copy’?” He frowned over his book. “Whatever that is. Anyway, he needed to check something and came home to consult some documents. He came in, realised there was an intruder in the house, called 999 from the hall, and then very foolishly,” with all the censoriousness of officialdom, “couldn’t wait for us and engaged the intruder. There was a struggle, and the intruder got away. When Mr Molloy checked his study, he found documents missing from the safe.”

“Documents,” Doyle repeated bitterly. “Got a description of the intruder?”

“Not me, no. Simmonds. My colleague. He’s got that.”

“Well, where’s he?”

“Upstairs, with Mr Molloy--”

He had got no further before Doyle had turned tail and taken the stairs two at a time. He followed the sound of voices into a room. A man – presumably the houseowner – was standing near a small safe. Not a particularly secure one, Doyle noticed in passing; he could have got into it with very little effort. He ignored the other police officer in the room and looked at Bodie.

“Anything?”

“Yeah, it’s him,” Bodie confirmed. “And not too long ago. We’re in with a chance.”

“Who?” The policeman and the reporter spoke at the same time, and paused. The policeman continued on. “You know who it was, then?”

Bodie flicked eyes from Doyle to the others. “We know who we think it was. The... agency... as it were. We don’t have a name, though, no. Can’t help you there.” His voice was off-hand, apologetic, but nevertheless final.

“Agency? What agency?” The reporter pushed forward. “What’s going on?”

Bodie turned to him. “Can’t tell you that, sir. Not yet. We might be wrong, and we wouldn’t want to mislead you, now, would we?”

“But who…?” The question was addressed to Bodie’s back as he started towards the door. He gestured to Doyle.

“Come on.”

Doyle clattered down the stairs behind Bodie. They ignored the officer downstairs and headed straight out. “Got something, then.”

“Yeah.” Bodie looked less preoccupied than before. “It’s Leon, and he’s obviously got the notebook. But at least there was no code book with it. Molloy was very irritated that he hadn’t been able to read it before it got nicked.” He opened the car door. “And we’re in with a chance. Because I bet I know where he’s gone.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Seriously,” confirmed Bodie, as he put the car into gear. “Remember I said I’d run across him before? And he’d done me a favour? We ended up in a right balls-up of an op with us, the Russians and the bloody Chinese all trying to suss out whether some Bulgarian – Parvanov, that was it – was actually defecting or not. Someone had me cornered, I thought I’d had it, Leon shot him.”

“Nice.” A thought occurred to Doyle. “He meant to, I suppose?”

“Thanks, Ray. Yeah. So yeah, I was curious about him when it was all over. Specially after we kept bumping into each other. You know how something happens and then it keeps happening again and again? Or you meet someone you haven’t seen for years and then five times more in the next month? It was like that. Like that stakeout.”

“With the sandwiches.”

“Yeah.” Bodie looked younger for a second as he grinned. “Well. One of the places I remember seeing him was Blackbushe airfield.”

“The airfield? What were you doing there?”

“Trying out a new parachuting club.”

“Christ, you’re not still throwing yourself out of planes for fun, are you Cowley’ll do his nut if he finds out.”

“Give it a rest, will you? Look, I was in the Paras for a reason, you know? I’m not going to damage myself. I know what I’m doing. And anyway,” his voice darkened, “Cowley might not much care what either of us do with our spare time if we don’t...”

“Don’t get the book back. Yeah, I know. Okay, so where are we going?”

“We’re going to the airfield. The reason I saw him there was that he was obviously a member of the aviation club. You know how people band together to buy shares in a plane? Six or eight of them? And then divvy up the time between them? Joe has it one weekend, Fred the next, Charlie the next?”

“I know what you mean. And he was in one of those?”

“He was,” Bodie confirmed. “And if that plane is there at the moment, then he’s got an easy way out. ”

Doyle chewed it over, chin cupped in hand, elbow on knee, foot on the dash. “So you think he’s headed there to make off in the plane? Now? At—” he checked his watch, “3.30 in the morning? What if you’re wrong? What if he’s made a dash for the embassy?”

Bodie scowled. “Then I hope B Squad are on their toes.” He nodded at the R/T. “While we’re in range, get on that, will you? You’ve got the description of him. See if you can raise Control and get B squad to the Embassy post.”

Doyle cast a dubious glance at him, straightened and did as he was told. “One last thing,” he added. “If Mark Molloy starts asking questions, sit on him, will you? Better yet, if you can get him to think it was MI5 who visited him, not CI5, go for it.” He grinned briefly at Bodie as he put the R/T back down. “They’ll do their best. Up to you now. Get us to this place, and we’ll see if we can head him off.”

 _If he’s there_. He avoided the thought.

Bodie changed down a gear and increased the revs – Doyle adjusting his posture to something more appropriate for a night time chase at speed – before accelerating out in the direction of the A30. When they reached it, they shot onto it like a cork from a bottle. It was coming up to four a.m. Few cars were out at this time, but those few were intent on arriving at their destinations fast.

Taking advantage of the conditions, Bodie concentrated on the road silently. When he spoke at last, his words were at odds with the car's pace.

“I’m hoping that we’ve got a bit of time in hand.”

“Eh? We that close behind him? You want to head him off somewhere along here?”

“Well, might be by the end. And no. Bit too public here. But there’s no point in hurrying as far as he’s concerned. He’ll be thinking he's clean away, cos there’s no-one immediately on his tail. And there’s no point in getting busted for speeding, is there? So he _could_ do all the preflight checks in the dark and try to take off before the Tower’s woken up. In which case, he’ll be gone before they show up to open up officially.”

Doyle rubbed his nose. “But you don't think he will?”

“Nah. I reckon he could just wait until everything starts up in the morning. Planes in the night are suspicious. They’ll be ready to start at dawn. He could just file a flight plan for a hop over the channel, take off - all above board - and disappear as soon as he gets into uncontrolled airspace. When the tower passes him over to the en route frequency, could even just say goodbye to the tower, switch off the transponder, and disappear straightaway. Off into the great blue yonder.” Bodie spread his fingers wide over the steering wheel. “Oh, that’s a thought,” he added. “Cloud cover. Ask Control for the Met report for the airport and the forecast for the morning.”

Doyle reached obediently for the R/T. It crackled and he threw it disgustedly down. “Out of range. By miles.”

Bodie nodded abstractedly but didn’t otherwise comment.

Doyle watched him for miles as the car ate up the cat's eyes as they passed. His mind whirled – choices, chances, opportunities, memories. _Bloody Barry Martin. Damn him. Couldn’t shoot him then. Couldn’t shoot_ _. Won’t make that mistake this time._

Doyle stirred. “Much further?”

“Nope. Ten, fifteen minutes.”

Doyle took a breath. “So. When we get there. What are we going to do?”

Bodie was silent for a long moment.

“I expect Cowley will want us to bring him in. And the book.”

“Yeah.” It was Doyle’s turn to let the silence lengthen. Eventually he lifted his head and looked towards Bodie. “I think we might want a look at that book before we turn it in.”

Bodie didn’t flinch. “Agreed.”

They knew what they were agreeing to.

“Where’s the code book?”

“Back at my place.”

“Somewhere safer than your airing cupboard this time, I hope.”

“ _Thank_ you, Bodie, yes.”

“Just saying.”

“Well don’t.”

Another mile passed in silence before Doyle broke it again.

“So, what can we expect? Will there be anyone waiting for him? Anyone else there?”

“Shouldn’t be, no. Soon find out, anyway. There’s the turn-off.”

Bodie turned in, and almost immediately pulled over and came to a stop. “No point in letting him know we’re here, eh?”

Once the engine was off, the world seemed quieter. There was the roar of the occasional car passing on the main road – enough to obscure the slam of the doors – but little else was audible.

They jogged lightly up the access road - Bodie carrying a torch for light - and past the sign advertising that they were now on private property. The gate was open. Doyle paused. Bodie shrugged at him.

“Could be Leon,” he mouthed. “Or it could be they just don’t lock up.”

Unseen, Doyle rolled his eyes. They slowed to a more cautious approach. Eventually, they came to a stop and Bodie switched off his torch. They waited in the moonlight, their eyes adjusting slowly. There was a faint breeze about them and above the clouds were passing over the moon. Strange that only an hour or two out of London, the air could be so still.

It didn’t take long to reach the haphazard complex of buildings and the parking area. There was one vehicle visible there, the shadow slowly resolving itself into a Ford Granada. Bodie signalled to Doyle, and diverted towards it. Doyle unholstered his weapon and surveyed the area as Bodie cautiously tried the door. He raised his eyebrows as it clicked loudly and opened. The moon silhouetted his features as he leaned in and deftly rifled the glove compartment, behind the visors and beneath the seats. He emerged and straightened, spreading his arms wide to show his empty hands.

He came over to Doyle to murmur in his ear. “Nothing useful. Must be getting straight on with things.”

They moved on, past the hangar and the tower and towards the tarmac. Not all the planes were in the hangar. Shapes loomed as they approached, edges sharpening as the moon emerged from clouds, and bodies fading again to purple-grey as the clouds obscured the moon again.

“There.” Bodie nudged Doyle. “The Cessna. That’s his.” A small plane stood before them. Again Doyle kept watch as Bodie tried the door. This time it was locked.

“Hangar, then.” Bodie’s mutter hung in the still air.

They padded softly towards the hangar. The main doors were shut, but the small side door was open, an open padlock hanging forlornly from it. They slipped through and paused for their eyes to adjust.

The hangar was lighter than Doyle had expected, the massive clear panels in the roof allowing at least some of the moonlight to filter palely through. The light seemed almost brighter at the far end.

They could see several more planes stationed at intervals. Long workbenches lay against the walls, with a variety of tools and paperwork scattered over them. As he took in the scene, Doyle felt Bodie touch his wrist lightly. Two of his fingers moved apart over his skin. _Split up._ He nodded automatically. Instinctively he slipped over to the protection of the planes, sliding through the shadows one by one. Bodie disappeared into the dimness on his own circuit.

Bodie stole from shadow to shadow, tension leaching away as his certainty grew. Leon must be in here, and it was only a matter of time. When he heard the first noise, calm settled on him. It had been a soft click from somewhere up ahead. He paused. It came again. Cautiously, he followed the sounds. He found cover in the form of another Cessna 150. Peering carefully from beneath its belly, he blinked.

_That’s not moonlight over there. That’s artificial. What’s he up to?_

He waited silently for Leon to move into his field of vision. When it didn’t happen, he inched further round. The light blazed brighter as he did so. Now he could see..

_Oh no._

Leon had dragged a couple of heavy lamps over to one of the workbenches. There was an array of metal tools which had been neatly moved and stacked to one side. The lamps had been set up to illuminate the remainder of the bench clearly. On the bench he could see... was that it? Yes, it was. The book that had been the cause of all this lay there, open, exposing its secrets to the glare of the light and to the lens of the camera that Leon was holding motionless over it as he adjusted focus and aperture.

_That’s all we need._

He breathed slowly, consciously, and retreated. It wasn’t hard to find Doyle – Doyle was good, sure enough, but Bodie had many more years of experience in silent movement in the dark. _More to the point, how do I alert him without getting shot myself?_

  
Doyle was in the shadow of an old Piper Aztec which had panels open on one of the wings. Carefully, Bodie groped along the nearest workbench. His fingers encountered a wrench... _No..._ a screwdriver... _Maybe..._ a screw... _Ah, better._ He abstracted it and stooped to roll it gently along the floor. It made barely a breath, but Doyle heard it, spinning and dropping to one knee as he aimed his weapon straight at Bodie. Bodie tilted his head and raised his hands in mock surrender, knowing that Doyle couldn’t vent his feelings to his satisfaction. Doyle cast his eyes heavenward and got to his feet ruefully.

“What?” he mouthed as soon as he got close enough to Bodie.

“Found him,” Bodie offered briefly. “Taking photographs,” he added.

Doyle grimaced.

“Come on.” Bodie made to lead off, then paused, and picked the screw back up. _Just in case_ , he thought, before leading Doyle carefully to the source of the light.

Crouched beneath the concealing plane, Doyle said nothing, merely observing Leon in his circle of light as he concentrated on weighing down the pages of the book so that they were open to be photographed. Finally he nodded to himself and then to Bodie. He leaned forward.

“Would be much easier to do it now.”

Bodie blinked. He knew what Doyle was suggesting.

_Easier technically, maybe. But you’re not like that._

_I’ll make it more comfortable for you._

“Owe him, remember?” he mouthed.

Doyle shot a look of disgust his way and leaned in again. His breath was damp in Bodie’s ear. “Go on, then.” Silently, impossibly slowly, Doyle straightened in the shadows, his gun ready, aiming straight for Leon’s heart. Once he had achieved his position, he flicked his eyes over to Bodie. _Go on._

Bodie stepped quietly away and moved around the edges of the pool of light, considering shadows and angles, keeping himself away from Doyle’s possible line of fire. Ah. Here.

He waited until Leon was engrossed again with the camera. _Need two hands for that. And you can’t go for your gun then, can you, comrade?_ He slid forward to the edge of the shadow, and moved as slowly as Doyle had until his gun covered Leon. He fished in his pocket for the screw, and dropped it deliberately. As the camera shutter closed, the screw tinkled.

Leon reacted instantly, whipping round, throwing the camera down onto the table, and going for his gun. He was halfway through drawing it when he registered Bodie, gun trained on him, and froze.

Time stretched out.

Bodie waited patiently, well aware of the picture that he and Leon must make to Doyle. Himself a grey figure still on the outskirts, and Leon arrested mid-movement, all sharp-shaded and light under the spotlamps. All too tempting a target like that. Would Doyle bring himself to do it?

Before they could find out, he spoke.

“Game’s up, Leon.”

“Bodie?” Leon’s tone was startled. “Bodie, is that you?”

No need for concealment now. Bodie stepped forward, gun trained on Leon. “Like a bad penny. Who else did you expect?”

Leon’s lip quirked. “May I?” He gestured with his left hand towards his right, still halfway into his jacket on its way to the gun. “I shall not shoot.”

“Wouldn’t mind if it was just you and me, mate. But we don’t want to startle anyone else, do we?” He raised his voice a little. “Doyle?”

“Right here.” Doyle too stepped forward into the light, his eyes calm as he focussed on his target.

 

“Ah. Two of you.” Leon sounded thoughtful. “Or am I to expect more?”

“Oh, I think we’ll keep it a private party for now.” Bodie nodded to him. “Go on. Very carefully.”

Carefully Leon withdrew his gun with his fingertips. He stooped a little to flip it onto the floor between the two of them.

“There. Now we can talk like civilised men.” He addressed Bodie, dismissing Doyle’s focussed determination. “Or do you wish for more proof?” He shifted stance to hold his arms wide.

“Well, since you offer...” Bodie stepped forward, kicking the gun over in Doyle’s direction. It clattered as it landed at Doyle’s feet. Doyle’s attention didn’t waver.

“Go on,” he acquiesced. Bodie reholstered his weapon and approached Leon.

“You will find a penknife in my right pocket,” Leon offered helpfully.

Bodie did so. “Where’s the spare ammo?”

“Please. I am not such a poor shot that I need to carry a bandolier of ammunition.” Leon’s tone was reproachful. “As you yourself have cause to remember.”

Bodie acknowledged this briefly and stepped around Leon to the workbench. “I think that’s ours.” He picked up the notebook. Schooling his features into mild interest, he flipped through it casually. The size of a school exercise book, black ink stretching over the blue lines and pink margins. Unintelligible words, scrawled in capital letters, baffling and numerous, interspersed with occasional numbers which looked like dates. The writing ceased a little more than halfway through the book, until the last few pages, similarly marked with cryptic notes.

He glanced over to Doyle. “Yeah, this is it.” Doyle acknowledged it with a nod of his head.

Bodie slipped it into his pocket. It was hard to feel it in there. He felt almost that the secrets it contained should weigh it down. It should be more significant. Not this scruffy thin book which could have been bought in any newsagent. The only way in which it felt at all unusual was the warmth. Must have had it under the lights for a while.

_Under the lights. Which means..._

He looked more carefully at the workbench and retrieved one... two... three film canisters, checking each one to reassure himself that the films were indeed in them.

“Got a lot of photos, did you? What’s the matter, run out of change for the embassy photocopier?”

Leon smiled humourlessly. “Ah yes. They can be most wasteful of pennies. Protection.”

“Protection? You? Who from? Who have you upset this time?” 

Bodie had forgotten the fun of verbal fencing with Leon. And with both notebook and film retrieved, and now – he reached – the camera, he could afford a little. 

“Your lot or ours?”

Leon grimaced. “Protection of the information. I would hate it to go missing after all this effort.”

“You know what’s in it, then?” Bodie was curious.

Leon shrugged. “Traitors. Yours and ours. You will see that we cannot have you knowing the identities of Barry Martin’s Russian weak links when we ourselves do not.”

“Bad luck there. We feel a bit differently.” He flashed a smirk at him.

“Of course you do.” Leon gestured towards the workbench. “Perhaps...”

“Stand still.” Doyle’s voice whipped out.

Leon halted. “As you wish. However. Perhaps we can both benefit? You may have the book...”

“Generous of you, seeing as we have it already.”

“...and allow me the photographs. You and your masters may deal with your people as you see fit, and I shall, as you say, clean my own doorstep.”

Doyle’s eyes narrowed at the unconscious echo, but he said nothing.

“Can’t do that. Sorry.”

“Ah. Bodie. Bodie. With all that is between us, what is this but one small favour? A favour which, you remember, you owe me.”

“I wouldn’t try that one on me, Leon. Right now, I’m currently the only thing stopping my partner blowing your head off. Right, Doyle?”

“Right.” Doyle’s voice was deadly.

“Crack shot, he is.” Bodie indicated him. “Met champion two years running.”

“Three years,” Doyle corrected him tersely.

_Trust Doyle._

“Three years. Not that it matters. At this range he could be third form tiddlywinks champion and he still wouldn’t miss.”

Leon nodded. “So. No sharing. Hmm. I will offer you another deal, then. I will come over.”

_What?_

“You will what?”

“I will come over,” Leon repeated patiently. “You wish for the book, yes? So do my masters. They will not be amused should I return without it. I would like to stay in Britain. I have no desire to be stationed in Tomsk. The winters there...” he shuddered dramatically

“Are too cold,” Bodie chorused with him, mind racing. _Is he serious? Can we do this? What about the book? Does he know who’s in it? What if he does? How do we dispose of the book if he comes over and tells Cowley we had the thing? Had it safe and sound?_ Suddenly he could feel it in his pocket, pressing heavily.

“That’s too big for us to offer,” he prevaricated. “Can’t make that decision. That’s one for the bosses.”

Leon’s eyes widened. “What? You are not sure? I offer you myself and you are unsure? Yet you are so determined to have the book? The book is worth more than a Soviet agent?” He paused, eyes flickering from one to the other. Doyle’s knuckles whitened on his gun but he didn’t change stance. “It must be very important to you. Why is that, I wonder? Can it be that you have a personal interest in it? Are you here, perhaps, how shall I put it? Unofficially?”

_Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I’m sorry, Leon. You just signed your own death warrant. I might not want to kill you, but the idea of you sitting in debriefs with Cowley – or back in Moscow – and slipping that little bombshell in... No. If I don’t, Doyle will. I’m amazed he hasn’t pulled the trigger already–_

The crack of a bullet sent him diving sideways as Leon fell away from him.

_Oh, Ray, Ray, couldn’t you have-_

_Away from me? _

_That wasn’t Ray. Who the fuck was that?_

As he landed and rolled, there were two lighter cracks and the lamps went out. Doyle evening the odds, he registered absently. A scrape on the ground which was probably Doyle collecting up Leon’s gun.

Bodie seized his moment and flung himself back across the space he and Leon had been occupying, heading for the relative safety of the Cessna from where he had watched initially.

Another crack – again the lighter sound of Doyle’s gun. Bodie held still and listened for a gasp, or a cry, or a thud. All that came was a bitten-off phrase of speech that had the sound of a curse. Russian?

And then a whine and a chinking noise as a bullet came all too close to him, punching through the fabric of the plane. And then footsteps. Doyle was running, shifting position. And someone else – _who, for Christ’s sake? Who is that?_ – was moving in rapidly. Despite their speed, with any luck they were as lost in the sudden gloom as he was himself. Frantically he laid the hangar contents out in his head.

His pursuer would have to cross the same open space by the workbench. Fixing that in his mind, he scrambled to his feet, spun round, reaching for his gun and firing as he turned.

 

His aim was dead on. A nondescript figure with greying dark hair. Whoever he was, Bodie had no interest in trying to take prisoners when people were shooting at him, and he watched dispassionately as his target fell.

Another crack. Someone else? _Christ, how many are there? How did they get that close to us? Shouldn’t have let my guard down. Shouldn’t have relaxed with Leon._ His thoughts raced on as his feet carried him to where he expected Doyle would be. His eyes were adjusting to the gloom, so presumably other people’s eyes would be too.

Ah. There was Doyle, and Doyle had seen him. He sprinted over to him, to put the pair of them pressed together in the shade of a filing cabinet. Someone’s pre-flight checklist fluttered off the top and gently down the back.

“How many?” Doyle’s eyes were huge in the gloom, and he was cradling his wrist.

“One down. One running around in here with us. Haven’t seen more. Doesn’t mean there aren’t. You okay?”

Even whispering, Doyle sounded irritable. “Yeah. Caught meself on some bloody wing.” He gestured with his head towards an inoffensive Cherokee.

“Can you shoot?”

Doyle glared. “Course I can shoot. Can beat you at tiddlywinks too. Who are they?”

Bodie grinned briefly at that. “Sound Russian. Think Leon’s doorstep didn’t want cleaning?”

“Could be. Okay. Now what?”

“Now we clean his doorstep for him. Much as I hate the thought of doing the Russians’ dirty work for them.”

Doyle chewed his lip and nodded. “They after the book, you think?”

“It’d make sense.”

“Yeah. So you hang onto it, mate. And those films.” He glanced at him. “Where’s the camera?”

 _Shit_. He winced.

“Bodie...”

“It’ll be by the workbench. When I dived.”

Doyle clearly bit off what he had been going to say and sighed before straightening up. “Come on, then.”

“What?”

“Can’t trust you on your own, can I?” He caught Bodie’s gaze and grinned. “Anyway, ’m not playing tag with Russian agents with you running around as well. Might put me off.”

Bodie grinned again, reluctantly, and pulled Doyle with him as he emerged from the shelter of the cabinet.

Eyes adjusted now to the gloom, Bodie trod warily back, gun ready, and conscious always of Doyle, never too far distant from him, making his own cautious way back towards Leon’s body. As they neared the place, he realised that although the moon was sinking, the sky was no longer completely dark without it; the faintest lightening was slowly occurring. False dawn. Running out of time.

There was furtive noise as they approached. From a safe distance, Bodie squinted at the man who was now searching the top of the desk in haste, the camera placed neatly on it. _Bad luck, mate, we’ve got the rest of the film._

“Recognise him?” he asked into Doyle’s ear.

Doyle peered thoughtfully, then leaned towards Bodie. Bodie strained to hear the low voice. “Seen him minding diplomats. Not KGB, though. Just muscle.”

Bodie nodded. Perhaps Barry Martin had had something on him. Perhaps he’d helped Martin. Perhaps he’d been part of the chain that linked Martin to that cargo ship he’d tried to escape on. It didn’t really matter. He was here, he had the camera, Bodie wanted it back: it was all very simple.

Something must have alerted the man. Not their low whispers – it was too belated for that – but maybe a change in light levels, or perhaps a prickling down his spine. Abruptly, he dropped the camera back onto the table amid the debris, and brought his gun hand up.

Two shots rang out at the same time, and the man reeled backwards, red blossoming on his shirt front. He fell heavily and didn’t move.

Bringing his gun down, Bodie looked in shock at Doyle, who was standing motionless in the wake of his own shot, taken in approved target-shooting stance. Doyle looked back at him levelly.

“Always won at tiddlywinks too.”

“Only because you cheat.”

“True,” Doyle admitted without concern. “Is that it now? No-one else running around the place?”

They remained still for two long minutes, waiting in vain for the tell-tale sound of breathing, of soft footsteps, of fabric rustling.

“Probably,” Bodie offered then. “Only one way to find out.” He looked at the camera, lying in solitude on the workbench.

“I’ll get it,” Doyle began.

Bodie caught his arm. “Nah, might need your tiddlywinks skills if there’s anyone left. Hang on.” He pulled calm around himself and walked unhurriedly over to the desk. He reached it and turned round slowly. Good. Nothing.

And that was it. He picked up the camera and headed back to Doyle.

“There we are.”

Doyle nodded briskly. “Right. Got everything this time? Book? Film? Camera?”

Bodie patted his pockets. “And the car keys. And a hankie. And I went before we started, thank you.”

Doyle looked heavenward. “Come on then.”

Outside, they checked for time. Dawn was an hour away, and there was every chance that airport staff would soon be arriving. _Haven’t got time to decode it. Going_ _to have to decide without knowing what’s in it. Whether we’re in it._

“Don’t tell him.” Doyle’s voice broke in.

Bodie looked at him. “That we’ve got the book?”

“Yeah. Tell him it got destroyed.” Doyle looked resigned. “For once we finish a job at an airfield without anything catching fire – anything at all – just when we could have done with a small one to blame.”

“You want a fire?”

“Well, I want an excuse. I don’t want that book going to Cowley, Bodie. Not without knowing what’s in it. And we haven’t got time for that. We’ve got three dead bodies in an aircraft hangar. We’re going to have to ring this one in, and the place’ll be crawling with cops – and didn’t you say these places open up at dawn? We’ll just have to decide now, without reading it. Keep it safe til we get a chance to look at it, and make it look like it’s gone.” His voice was intent.

“And if we tell him it’s gone, and then we read it, and then there’s something really big in it?”

Doyle shrugged irritably. “If. _If_ there’s something really big in it. Either we find evidence another way, or not. We can’t arrest someone on the basis of a few mouldy pages found behind the wall of a woman whose landlady is Barry Martin’s old girlfriend. We’d be laughed out of court. That book’s useless from that point of view. The only thing it’s going to be useful for is getting people into trouble.Whether there’s proof or not. And,” he shrugged. “I don’t want to lose this job. I like doing it. It suits me.”

Bodie wasn’t about to ask how Doyle was going to square that with withholding the very object they were supposed to have retrieved, but Doyle went on.

“But I don’t want to lose...” he shrugged. “You know.”

Bodie nodded. He knew. He knew, and he agreed. He turned aside and scanned the area.

“There. That.” He nodded.

“What?”

“Just enough fuel to start a blaze in that drum. Nice and small. Just big enough to destroy a book. So.” He paused, considering. “How about this? We arrived hard on Leon’s heels; he’d obviously agreed to meet this pair as buyers; there was a falling-out between thieves; we were too late to stop a row which resulted in Leon burning the book; we chased them into the hangar – it’s our bullets in them, so we’ll have to say that – and they lost.”

Doyle turned that over. “Needs work, but yeah. Hmm. We got time to get that drum into the hangar? Leon’s in there, so he’d have had to have had his little pyro moment in there. Which we walked in on.”

Bodie nodded. They set to work. In ten minutes, they had manoeuvred the drum into place and started a small fire in it. Doyle rummaged on the workbenches for paper until he had enough to approximate the size of an exercise book, and shook the contents into the drum. He watched thoughtfully as the flames leapt, and stirred the charring pages to stop them clumping. When the paper had crumpled into blackness, he poured a gallon or two of water over the blaze and swirled the mess around. Then he looked up.

“Okay. Time to call in.”

They found a phone and called first CI5 and then the local police. It was too early even for Cowley to be in, so Bodie briefly described their location, the death of three Russians in a shoot-out and the loss of the item they had been sent to retrieve, then hung up before they could be asked to remain where they were. He locked the camera away in the boot of the Capri, but kept the book and the films on him. _Can’t imagine it’s a popular place for joy-riders to take a car, but just in case..._

The high cumulus that had swept through in the night had given way to greyer, flatter clouds. It was beginning to drizzle, and the creep from darkness to dawn was slow and muted. When the local police arrived, shocked and eager to be part of a far from routine occurrence, Doyle pressed them into service guarding the dead men. He knew already that the bodies carried nothing useful, Bodie having deftly investigated while Doyle had been watching over the immolation of the paper masquerading as the book.

Then they headed for home.


	5. Wednesday

They couldn’t do anything with the book immediately. There was no time. Instead, they called in their separate locations to Control, received grudging permission for a late start, and re-encountered each other at noon in the rest room. Neither looked particularly rested; but both had slept enough to be able to endure the oncoming interview with Cowley.

In the event, the interview was a formality, Cowley being much more engaged with the ongoing debriefing of Branson. He merely demanded their reports on his desk by the end of the week and his code book back by the end of the day. They exchanged glances and nodded, leaving the building for Doyle’s flat.

Doyle had been poring over the two books for some hours. Bodie was content to watch from the sofa. It wasn’t as if two people could go any faster on it. Judging by the amount of swearing and sudden catches of breath, Doyle was pulling the secrets out from the tersely written columns of words.

“You got anywhere?”

“Yeah. Ten minutes.”

Bodie nodded and padded to the kitchen. Returning with two mugs of tea, he placed one on the table near Doyle and retreated with his own. He was halfway down it when Doyle threw his pen down,stretched until his back creaked, and reached for his tea.

“Well?”

Doyle’s eyes were sombre. “We dodged a bullet on this one, mate.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“How d’you think? We’re in the bloody thing alright. Both of us.”

“Well, of course both of us.” Bodie frowned. “If we’re in, then – oh.” His grasp on his mug tightened. “We’re not in there together.”

“Well, we are. But we might not have been.”

“Doyle, your mind. Never mind the might-haves. Do your worst.”

“Well, he’s got us tagged as shirt-lifters.”

“So refined.”

Doyle shrugged. “Whatever name he put on it, he’d think the same. You prefer gay? Homosexual? Bisexual?”

“Coming from him, it’s all the same. Bisexual, gay, poof, I’d have clocked him one if he’d used any of them to my face. None of his frigging business, is it?”

Doyle raised an eyebrow.

“Get on with it, Ray.”

“Okay, he’s got you tagged as hanging out at the Black Cap. You know. In Camden. You idiot.” Doyle cast a look of disgust at Bodie.

“You serious? I never went near the place... oh, hang on. Now you come to mention it. Yeah, I went there maybe once or twice. Back in ’76. Wouldn’t have called it ‘hanging out’, though. Just a couple of times.”

Bodie’s tone was confident, assuring. Was he telling his partner the truth? Doyle mentally shrugged and let it go. He didn’t give a damn whether it had been the first trip or the fifty-first. Whichever it was, it was...

“Enough, at least.”

“Yeah. What about you?”

Doyle’s lip curled bitterly. “Seems gin and tonic and art classes were quite enough for him. I’m just generally under suspicion. Still, enough for him to think it might be worth listing me.”

“So there was nothing in it about the two of us together, then? After all that?”

“No, there was.”

“You said–”

“I know what I said! He listed me because of you. Because we were partners.”

“What?” Bodie’s mouth fell open.

“Yeah.” Doyle was grimly amused. “Your ‘once or twice’ at the Black Cap was apparently enough to taint me as well. Thanks, sweetheart.”

Bodie shut up as Doyle referred again to the book.

“If I’ve got this right, we were listed as good targets because we like the job. And he could see us wanting to stay.” He flicked his eyes towards Bodie. “Got that bit right, at least. But,” - he paused to scowl – “he thought we’d be good marks because we’d want to stay. More to lose.”

Bodie pulled a face. “More to lose than being exposed as...?” He tailed off, Doyle’s expressive face clearly waiting for the end of that remark, and returned to the point. “This book seems to be a bunch of lucky guesses so far. Partners working well together? _Gin and tonics?_ For Christ’s sake. He got anything concrete? On anyone, I mean. Not just us.”

“Actually, he has.” Doyle stood up and went to the window.

“Well, what? Who on?”

“Tony. Remember him? Shot on his first job?”

“Yeah. What about him?”

“Apparently he shouldn’t have passed the target shooting tests. He was on the borderline. You know how keen he was to get involved. So Martin gave him the benefit of the doubt, passed him, and the let him know about it.

“So Tony’d feel a debt to him?”

“Yeah.”

“Bastard.”

“Yeah.”

“What about Morgan? He in that thing?”

Doyle laughed bitterly. “Oh yeah. Apparently made a few more visits to his girlfriend’s family than he put in the ‘conflict of interest’ forms. Before and after they married.”

“That could mean anything and nothing.”

“We’ll never know now, will we?”

“No. So is it just CI5? Or are MI5 in there too? MI6?”

Doyle’s grin was sharp. “Less than you might hope. There’s a few bits. Martin must have been keeping this for a while. Some of it’s old hat. I think this...” he pointed at a heavily crossed out entry “...refers to Blunt.”

Bodie raised an eyebrow. “That must have been a while ago then, yeah. Talk of Whitehall _and_ Westminster, he was, all through the seventies. Seems like the only people who didn’t know were his bosses.”

“Yeah. Barry sat on that one a bit too long.”

“And...” Doyle tailed off.

“Yeah?”

Doyle turned back from the window and looked pensive. “There’s stuff about the Russians.”

Bodie winced.

“Mmm. I’ve copied it out. Mostly a list of names. We’ll just have to keep an eye out for them.”

“Bet you two of those names are lying in the morgue with Leon right now.”

Doyle took a gulp of his tea. “Wouldn’t be surprised.”

“So that’s it?”

“Mmm. Yeah.” He looked unblinkingly at Bodie. “It was the right decision.”

Bodie turned it over in his mind. It wasn’t like Doyle to be so cool about this.

“Right.”

“It was,” Doyle insisted.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t! I know it was!” He put his hands up in mock defence, and then moved towards him a step. Reaching out, he took Doyle by the upper arms, feeling the strength in them as Doyle shrugged him off. He paused, but Doyle remained where he was, not backing off.

“All’s well that ends well, eh?”

Doyle considered. “Nicole, Leon. Those other two. Was sorry about Nicole.” He rubbed his nose. “Was sorry about Leon too. For you, I mean.”

Bodie nodded briefly. “It was always going to end up that way for one of us. But thanks. And this way it’s over.”

_Over. Hope to Christ it’s over. Too close, this one was. Too close, and too_ _much luck. We nearly lost everything. Did lose Nicole. Lost Leon too._

“You paid your debt, too.” Doyle’s voice broke in on his introspection.

“Eh?”

“Your debt. I was this” – Doyle held up his thumb and forefinger, pressed close together – “close to pulling the trigger. But you and your ‘I owe him’... I waited.” Doyle’s eyes were challenging.

Bodie nodded slowly. “Right.”

Doyle’s smile was bitter. “Turns out I’ll compromise CI5. But I won’t compromise you.”

“Yeah.” He considered that. So his brooding partner thought that he had morals, then, morals worth keeping. Worth it for him, or for the morals themselves? He didn’t think it was for the ideals. “Same here. But it’s over now.” He looked at Doyle, that hard-eyed man at home with guns and cars and swift pickups and hard sex. And, he knew now, as determined as he was to preserve their lives together. _Two of a kind, us. We match each other. We belong together._

“Starting from a clean slate again, now.”

He reached out.

**Author's Note:**

> To start with, I need to thank my tireless beta readers, merentha13, maddalia, and golden_bastet, who combined writing their own with beta-reading mine – repeatedly - and now I know how hard that is! greengerbil was a fount of information on Pros-era aviation and airfields. whitehills saved me from disastrous over-complicated plotting in the early stages and then took the computer equivalent of the blue pencil to it even after I finished far later than originally planned, and did so in record time. Thanks also to the mods of the comm, who trusted me when I told them that I was woefully behind but that I was determined to get back on track, and encouraged me to keep going – as did the inhabitants of ci5-boxoftricks and my friends list: a thousand thanks to you all. And I must not forget those not on LJ who encouraged me on the phone or in person: E and L in particular. Finally, an awed thank you to my artist, sw33n3y, who, faced with less than half a story and an outline that I then did not entirely follow, immediately got the mood I was trying for and turned in piece after piece of art which inspired me on to the end. You can see them in their full glory on AO3 too, [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1010871).


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